The Importance of Modesty
by Zira Angel
Summary: A tale of fanciful dress, romantic intrigue, stalking, and robots. TFA
1. Chapter 1

Brand new fic, everyone. I have it all nice and edited. I'm sure you'll be happy about this. It has Optimus/Oil Slick as the first pairing. Then you will see what all happens later :V

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

When Powerdrive had learned that he was carrying a sparkling, he had rejoiced with Steelbolt for a very long time. They had gone out for celebratory high-grade, which they could hardly afford on their strict budget-but they were with sparkling, and considered meager rations for a few sols worth the celebration.

When they had onlined the next sol, Powerdrive and Steelbolt had sat in front of their loom and began to weave their sparkling's first blanket wrap. Powerdrive had kissed Steelbolt who was intent on getting the weave perfectly straight, which was quite difficult to do on their crooked, half-broken loom. "I am going to the thrift store to see if they have any cloaks that will suit him when he is old enough for them," Powerdrive had informed his lover, and Steelbolt had simply nodded, knowing they could not afford new cloaks.

"Can you buy a few lem of uncarded metal fibers?" Steelbolt had come from a spinning family, and was quite good at turning the fibers into useable metal cords. Powerdrive had promised he would, and had gone off, wrapping his own well-worn cloak around his frame. The secondhand stores were all in a more conservative area of the city, so he covered his helm with a hat as well, hiding his headfins from view.

There would be many trips before their sparklings was born, and many long megacycles after returning from the factories, sitting in front of the loom, weaving blankets and cloaks for the coming sparkling.

On one thing both mechs were in utter agreement. Their sparkling would learn how to weave on the loom as soon as he was old enough to hold a metal thread without snapping it. They couldn't afford to make all of the clothes for him.

When the sparkling finally emerged a vorn later, they had a good supply ready for him. Optimus blinked sleepy blue optics and reached up at them with tiny servos, clutching at the medical cloak that Powerdrive had been draped with for the procedure. They had never been happier than that moment, when the medicbots took the drape from them and carefully bundled Optimus in it, the sparkling getting even drowsier as he was wrapped tightly in metal cloth. Powerdrive held Optimus in his arms and had smiled, taking the tiny cube of sparkling energon to feed the little mech. They were so blessed.

* * *

Optimus stares up at his papas, and then looks back uncertainly at the cloak they are holding for him. "No." He pulls his cloth wrap closer around him, scowling at the loose cloak. It is not the same at all, and he doesn't want it.

Papa Steelbolt smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, "Yes, sparkling. You're finally old enough for it."

He pushes it away, scowling angrily, "No." He doesn't like it.

Powerdrive slowly started to remove the cloth wrap, "Isn't it nice? Blue and red, just like you. Won't you look pretty in it?"

He clings to his cloth wrap, "No!"

His creators shared a look, carefully holding him, "Quickstart said this might happen, didn't he? Why don't you want it, sparkling?"

He dug his claws into the wrap, not letting go of it, "Don't like it." It isn't safe. Too loose, won't keep him warm, and he's seen other sparklings in them. Those sparklings don't get held as much as the ones in the wraps. He likes being held. "No."

Powerdrive grabs his servos and Steelbolt carefully unwraps the blanket, and Optimus screeches as loud as he can, kicking his peds wildly. "You are going to have you aft paddled if you don't stop that, Optimus. You can't wear a blanket wrap now. You're too big for one, and the wrap shows off the shape of your frame. You get to wear a nice cloak instead, and _hat_. I bet you want a hat, don't you? You love putting papa's hat on."

Optimus stops screeching, considering the offer, even as his blanket is torn from him. He does like Papa Powerdrive's fluffy hat. "Don't want cloak." Optimus brightens a bit, feeling very naked, "Blanket and hat?"

"Nope," Steelbolt says, wrapping the cloak around him, pinning it in place with a magnetic pin. "You can only have a hat with a cloak."

He squirms irritably at how it falls over his frame, "No."

Powerdrive carefully places the hat on his head, "There. Isn't that better?"

He stops squirming, giggling happily at the feeling of the fuzzy warm hat, "Yes!" He can live with the terrible cloak if it means he gets the hat.

* * *

Optimus shivers unhappily in the desk, hating how cold it is in the class room this time of the stellar cycle. The fact that he's next to the windows doesn't really help, and he just wishes the teacherbot would just stop talking about history and let him go talk with the other sparklings. He wants to go see if he can trade his chest wrap for something. He likes trying on new clothing.

Finally, after a billion megacycles of lessons, he gets released, and Optimus scampers out the door into the snow-covered play area. He shivers, and passes the cold metal bars and heads into the indoor play area, which has warm heaters on all four sides, keeping the place a comfortable temperature. Optimus sits on one of the benches an kicks his peds, reaching under his cloak to start unwrapping his chest wrap. "I want to trade," he announces loudly, and several sparklings close to his size come over to investigate what he's offering.

Several already have a chest wrap, and see that he has it before moving away, but a cyclebot moves closer, looking at him curiously, "What is it?"

"This," he holds it out, "my chest wrap."

The cyclebot frowns, "I don't know how to use it, I don't really have as large as a chest as you."

Which is very true. The cyclebot was almost obscenely thin, Optimus could likely wrap both servos around his waist, touching fingertips, but he has very large servos for a sparkling for his age and development right now. "You could wrap more around you. Tie it around your arms or waist."

"I don't know." The mech frowns and holds the cloth, moving it back and forth. "Maybe. What do you want for it?"

Optimus touches the hat the other sparkling is wearing. "I want your hat."

The mech stares at him, "But you've already got a hat on. Why do you need another one?"

Optimus blushes, "I like hats." He pulls his cloak closer around him. "I want your hat. Will you trade with me?" He really hopes the cyclebot will trade with him. Then he'll have _two_ hats to wear on his head instead of just one.

The cyclebot frowns, tapping metal meshed boots on the floor and gloved claws against his arms, "Only if you do something."

His spark sinks, "What?"

The bot raises his arms, "You have to help me with putting it on, I don't know how."

He beams, "I can do that!" He wraps his arms around the bot, reaching under the cloak, and carefully wrapping the chest wrap so it won't crease uncomfortably with long practice. "There!"

The cyclebot gently pushes him to a chair, placing his hat on top of Optimus, "Yes, now I get to sit on you, since you are going to be wearing two hats, and you keep _shivering_. We get to cuddle under our cloaks."

Optimus is pretty sure you aren't supposed to share cloaks. That they'll get in trouble for it.

But the mech feels so warm . . .

"Okay." He lets the cyclebot wiggle under his cloak, adjusting the magnets on both cloaks so they're wrapped together in one warm bundle of fabric. "Mm. You're warm," he wraps his arms around the cyclebot. "I'm Optimus."

"Oil Slick," the cyclebot says, rubbing Optimus's cloak with his claws. "Why are you wearing a summer cloak?"

He flushes in embarrassment, "We... we can't really afford-"

Oil Slick nuzzles him, "That's okay. My mamas say that it doesn't matter what you can or can't afford as long as you're a good person. Are you a good person, Optimus?"

He blushes, "I like to think so."

The cyclebot leans on him, "I think so, too."

They end up falling into recharge on one of the heated benches, nuzzling into each other's frame. Optimus wonders if he's finally made a friend.

* * *

This sol is a very important sol. Optimus is going to learn how to weave this sol, on his papas' big loom. He wants to weave on the big loom so bad. He watches his papas work on it all the time and they make beautiful things for him. Pretty, soft things. Papa Steelbolt likes making pretty, lacy things to sell.

When he's older, he'll understand that Steelbolt made lace because it used less material and the wealthy bots liked buying it to decorate their fancy cloaks and hats.

For now, all Optimus knows is that he's going to learn to weave and he's going to make something _amazing_.

"You remember what we told you about being careful?"

He nods. It has been drilled into him since he could only transform into a cube that he doesn't do anything around the loom. It isn't good to do anything to the loom. This is what they use to make extra money for when they aren't working in the factories, or for making the clothing when they don't get it from the thrift store. "Yes, papa." He'd never _not_ be careful around the loom.

Papa Steelbolt pats his head, putting him on his lap, "Well, let's begin, sparkling. You _are_ old enough, and I've been looking forward to this. You know that _everyone_ on Haydon IV learns to weave at your age."

Optimus nods eagerly, "I want to learn! I want to make something for Oil Slick!"

His papas chuckle, and Steelbolt tickles him, fingers sliding up under his cloak. "It sounds like someone has a sparkling crush." Optimus doesn't want to crush anyone. He doesn't understand. "We'll make sure you have something to give to him when you see him tomorrow." Steelbolt lifts Optimus's servos. "This is our loom. It is very old, and very delicate. You cannot put too much pressure on the parts, or it will break. Do you understand, Optimus?"

His fingers shake, "Yes, papa. I'll be extra careful." He doesn't know if he can do this, but he _wants_ to. He knows every other sparkling in his class is learning, and doesn't want to be the only one not learning.

His papa kisses the top of his head, "Good. We know you can do it, sparkling."

He takes a deep in-vent, and starts listening to what they have to teach him.

* * *

He rushes over to Oil Slick the very next sol, reaching into his subspace to pull out what he made. "Oil Slick! Oil Slick!" He skids to a stop, seeing him in front of two imposing femmes in _very_ nice clothes, better than the clothing that the bots papa Steelbolt sometimes goes to on the decacycle to show the lace to. "S-sorry, " he stutters out, rushing away to hide behind his papas' legs.

Steelbolt shoos him back out, "Go show him what you made for him, sweetspark. Go on, now." Optimus feels his peds drag on the ground as Steelbolt pushes him forward. His little spark trembles, not used to seeing such pretty femmes with such expensive clothing.

"H-h-hello," he stutters out, squeaking when one of the femmes kneels down in front of him, her elegant cape spreading out all around her like it was made out of something really soft, like the fuzz on the turbofox that Optimus had once seen in the park. Her face is a pretty white metal and blue accents. "I m-made this for Oil Sl-Slick." He thrusts out his servos, offering the femme the little rounded cap-like object. "It's for his d-decoration." Gift thusly offered, he scurries back behind Steelbolt's peds.

She spreads it out in her long gloved claws, and smiles, "It is very lovely." It isn't, really. It is bunched up in parts, and the weave is very lopsided and wrong. "Are you just starting? Oil Slick hasn't started yet, since his claws keep ripping though the metal, and he can not learn with gloves on."

He blushes, he hadn't realized that Oil Slick hadn't started yet. He had thought the cyclebot had already started, since Oil Slick is almost a full vorn older than him. "I... I am just starting."

The white femme gently removes Oil Slick's hat and places the cap that Optimus made on his head before putting the hat back on. "It is lovely. And extra warm. Now he won't have to worry about his headscrews freezing."

The other femme comes closer, frowning down at him, and Optimus cowers, clinging to his papa's ped. "Is that a summer cloak?" Her face is dark and imposing, a few hints of yellow at the edges, and the prettiest golden yellow optics he's ever seen. "Why in the pit are you wearing a summer cloak at the peak of winter?"

Optimus doesn't understand. He has two cloaks and they are normal cloaks that he wears all the time. Steelbolt answers for him, "I ask that you not curse around my sparkling, and that you don't judge what we are capable of providing for our sparkling."

Papa Powerdrive pushes him gently over to Oil Slick while the femme looks angrier, "Sparkling, how about you play with your friend? We'll talk with his creators."

He gives the imposing femme a terrified look, knowing instinctively that mechs do _not_ do well in arguments with femmes. "Papa, no. I want to stay with you."

The white femme sees his distress and moves closer, putting a servo on the angry femme's arm, "Wildstar," her voice is soft, not meant to be heard even if Optimus can hear it, "you're only noticing the fact that the sparkling is covered in lace and other decorations. Not that the lace is filled with flaws. Their cloaks are even _worse_ than little Optimus's. Calm _down_. Yes, their cloaks have lace that is stunning, but I bet they sell it to just get by."

Optimus pokes at the lace on his cloak. It's very nice lace, and the pattern is very pretty. His papa worked a very long time to make lace, and he gives Optimus test-batches because they're ones he can't sell. Optimus knows that his papa is the best lace-maker in the entire world, and Papa Powerdrive is the best at picking out metal fibers.

He shrieks with distress as the dark femme picks him up, examining his cloak carefully. "No, no, down!" he reverts to simple sparkling demands, and actually _chirps_ several times, instinctive fear robbing him of language.

Oil Slick reacts to that as well, rushing up towards him, "Mama! No! Put him down!" Ending up reverting to chirping as well out of terror.

Glitterfrost grabs him out of mean femme's grasp, giving him to papa Powerdrive instantly, "Oh, Primus, I'm so sorry-"

Optimus breaks out into sobs, clinging tightly, "I want to go home! I don't... I don't..!" He's so upset, he's not sure how to articulate what he doesn't want.

His papa cuddle him closely, soothing him, and several of the teachers and other creators rush forward at the commotion.

"Primus," the evil dark femme says, "I didn't mean to frighten him. I just wanted to look at his-"

One of the teachers cuts her off, "Don't say anything more. You've upset the sparklings enough this sol. I want you to take Oil Sick home. You can speak with Optimus's creators another time, to discuss a proper apology for this." He turns to Steelbolt, "You should take Optimus home as well."

Steelbolt shakes his head, "We can't. We're both working full shifts this sol. He's only had half a cube so far. He needs to get his mid-sol energon here. He'll be fine." Steelbolt shifts Optimus and kisses his forehead, right beneath the brim of his hat, "Won't you? You can be a strong sparkling for us this sol. I bet you'll get a sweet if you're good."

He wants nothing more than to insist that he go _home_, and stay home, but he knows that isn't how it works. He clings to his papa extra tight, hugging him a little longer than normal, "Y-yes, papa. I-I can be st-strong."

He's given a hug and a kiss from papa Powerdrive, "There's our good sparkling. You can do it." He's set gently on the ground, and his papa pulls out a small bit of lace from his sub-space, "You can practice your sewing on your hat during break like you've been wanting, sparkling. Just remember where we told you it would look best."

"Okay, papas." Optimus clutches the lace and the tiny needle that his papa gives him. He's already been entrusted to keep small bits of metal thread in his subspace. "Does Oil Slick have to go home?" He wants to see if the mech liked his gift, and then he wants to curl up under their combined cloaks for a long stasis nap after they get tasty energon. Much better energon than what he gets at home.

The teacher sighs, "He does not _have_ to go home, if you are comfortable having him here, Optimus."

Oil Slick is suddenly by his side, clinging to him, "I want to be with Optimus."

The cyclebot is a warm weight on his side, making him feel better, "I like him with me."

The teacher shrugs, "Then he can stay." The bot turns to their creators, "You are still going to be discussing what you did, Wildstar. That was absolutely unacceptable."

He takes Oil Slick's servo, walking with him to the building, "Do.. do you like the cap I made you?" He knows it isn't very good, but he doesn't want Oil Slick to think it is terrible.

"I like it." Oil Slick curls his gloved claws around Optimus's fingers. "Does this mean you want to bond with me? When mama Glitterfrost decided she wanted to bond with mama Wildstar, she wove a hat for her, and then a few decavorns later they had me."

Optimus blinks, "I . . we're too young to bond."

Oil Slick shrugs, "We could be betrothed? Lots of bots get betrothed."

That sounds reasonable to Optimus. "Okay. We'll get bonded as soon as they let us. How old do we have to be?" He's not sure. He sits at his desk, and Oil Slick slips onto his lap.

"I don't know. Maybe next stellar cycle?" Oil Slick lays his head on Optimus's shoulder.

One of the teachers, a big, strong mech named Crunch, comes over to them with a scowl on his face. "You can't share desks."

Optimus blinks again, "But we're betrothed."

Crunch frowns at him, "No you aren't."

Oil Slick wraps his arms around Optimus possessively, "Yes we are. I will bond with him."

The teacher sighs softly, "If you were betrothed, I'd know."

They blink up at him incomprehensibly, and one of the other sparklings raises his servo, "How would you know that?"

Crunch rubs his optics, "Very well, this sol, we'll be learning about bonding and betrothal contracts. But," He holds up a single finger, "only if you all behave and realize there will be a test at the end of the sol. And Oil Slick has to sit in his desk."

"No." Oil Slick clings to Optimus, and then wraps Optimus's cloak around himself. "We're betrothed and you can't stop me from loving him." He shrieks unhappily as he's picked up by Crunch and placed at his own desk.

"Sparklings sit apart during lessons. You know the rules, Oil Slick. If you misbehave again, you're wearing the sack for the rest of the sol."

Oil Slick sits up straight, suddenly attentive and well-behaved. No one wants to wear the sack. It's an ugly, lumpy metal thing with painted lettering that boldly declares 'I was a bad sparkling.' And it's itchy.

Crunch leans on the desk, "Now then, who wants to learn about betrothals?" All the sparklings raise their servos. "Even if I give a test about it at the end of the sol?" The servos stay up, even if they are a little more hesitant. "Well... Okay, let's start on why I would have known if Oil Slick and Optimus had been betrothed."

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

Transformers Belongs to Hasbro

* * *

Optimus wraps his arms around Oil Slick's tiny waist, blinking at the mean femme that picked him up several decacycles ago. Oil Slick's creator's and his creator's are both talking quietly while looking over a lot of datapads on a desk between them, and have been for a very long time. Optimus is very glad that they had that lesson on betrothals, or when he and Oil Slick had been asked to sit in the office in Oil Slick's house - he actually had a _house_, not an apartment, and Optimus is fairly sure it might just really be a mansion since there are all sorts of servants and cleaning drones all over - and he heard mentions of contracts and brushes, he wouldn't know what was going on.

"I think we're going to get bonded," Optimus says, tone hushed. The teacher had said it would take vorns and vorns and vorns and they had to be adults, but he's pretty sure they're going to go paint their fingers in a megacycle or so, and then they'll have to do stuff as a bonded couple. Optimus is pretty sure that means he and Oil Slick get to recharge together-which they already do-and then maybe make strange noises at night. He's not sure he wants to make strange noises with Oil Slick.

Oil Slick makes a muted happy sound, wiggling on his lap and hugging him excitedly, "So do I!" The cyclebot nuzzles him, "I'm so glad." He's wrapped with the cloak, and nuzzled, "Do you think we'll get out bonding brushes now? I want to paint you now. We should be allowed to paint you now. You made me my cap, so we're already betrothed."

He shakes his head, "Remember what teacher Crunch said, we have to make the brushes ourselves, unless our creators want to give us theirs."

He's nuzzled, "So my mamas can give me theirs, and we can get painted!"

"If they do, we can get painted," Optimus nods, pretty sure that's how it all works. Crunch had said it was not, but Crunch was a mean old bot who lived to make them miserable and give them tests all the time. Optimus looks up at his creators, who are hissing something at the femmes now, and he stands, tugging on Oil Slick's servo, "Show me where your room is." He wonders if Oil Slick _does_ have a room of his own. Optimus still recharges in the common room in his apartment, on a little berth that folds out of the couch. He doesn't need a room, though. He doesn't have many toys to store away.

Oil Slick gives him an excited look, "Okay!" He's pulled out of the room quickly, and through a maze of hallways too fast for his mapping systems to get more than the barest sketch. "You're going to love it, Optimus! My berth is so warm, and covered in metal mesh, and we can play video games in there together, and you can even be first player because I want you to-"

He smiles, "I don't play many video games." He only has a single and very finicky old console, so he doesn't use it very much. He prefers to use his other toys, like the dolls his papas made him.

Oil Slick pulls him into a room, "That's okay, you can still be first player. It doesn't matter who is who. I want you with me."

Optimus blinks, startled by the size of the room. It's bigger than his entire apartment. He suddenly really doesn't want Oil Slick to ever see his home. "Do you ever lose your toys?" If he had this much space, he'd lose all of his favorite toys.

Oil Slick shakes his head, "No. I have chests and shelves to keep them on." He pulls down a pair of transforming toys. "These are my favorite. This one is Ultra Magnus," the figure has dents all over it, "and this one is Megatron. They fight a lot so they have to stay on separate shelves." Optimus takes the Ultra Magnus toy and the Megatron one. They're much bigger than any of his toys are. "You can't have them, but if we're bonded, we can share them."

He nods, not really sure what that's about, but agreeable. He knows that these things are Oil Slick's, and he can't just take them. "If that's what you want."

He's gently pushed into the berth, "We're going to play video games, Optimus. We can play with those two later."

He sits on the berth, and it is the most comfortable berth he's _ever_ been in. The metal meshes are so soft and wonderful, he just wants to roll around and snuggle in them. He isn't sure how he's going to be _able_ to focus on video games when he's laying on this.

Oil Slick stares at him for a klik, and then asks, "Are you okay? Are the meshes not good enough? I can ask my mamas to get better meshes." He pauses, "I can ask them _later_. I'm not supposed to interrupt them when they have mechs over. We can ask them when it's time for energon." He reaches over and rests a servo over Optimus's, "Maybe you can stay tonight." Optimus hopes so. The berth is so soft and comfy and better than his fold-out berth.

"Maybe. My papas don't like when I'm away from home when they're home."

Oil Slick nuzzles him, "But my mamas normally make sure the mechs are over all night. You will be over all night like them. We will ask when we get energon." The video game is turned on, and the cyclebot climbs in, cuddling close, their cloaks askew and hats off to the side. "Is... is it okay if I take off my gloves and boots?"

He bites his lower lip, knowing that it isn't really allowed, but it _is_ Oil Slick's home. "Yes. We can have them off for family and really close friends. We're going to be _bonded_."

Oil Slick beams, "Help me with my boots?" The mech moves, laying on his back and wiggling his peds at Optimus, metal mesh hiding all the parts of it that aren't actually used for mobility. "They're always so _uncomfortable_."

Optimus carefully removes the mesh, tugging at the magnets until they let go of his armor. The peds he reveals are very nice peds, but he can understand why they have to stay covered. They look pretty, and are very distracting. They would also get cold very easily. "It's important to stay covered up," Optimus repeats what his creators have told him dozens of times, when he asked why bots always had to stay under their cloaks in public.

Oil Slick removes his gloves, "When we're outside, I can understand. That's _cold_. But we're warm in here." The other sparkling tugs at his chest wrap, "You can take this off."

He squirms a little bit, "I don't-"

The mech pulls up a heating blanket, "We can wear this over our cloaks. It's really warm."

He smiles, "Okay." He takes off the chest wrap, letting Oil Slick drop it off the side of the berth with the gloves, hats, and boots. "Heating blanket?"

It gets wrapped around him, and Oil Slick cuddles him closely, "There. Now we can play."

Optimus takes one of the controllers and tries to figure out how to hold it without Oil Slick noticing his fumbling. Luckily, Oil Slick is busy scrolling through the game options and choices, and he doesn't notice how Optimus clumsily adjusts the controller until he's holding it the way Oil Slick is. The mech finally settles on some game Optimus has never even heard of.

"You're going to help me in this one," Oil Slick instructs him. "It's a puzzle game. We're going to have to solve the puzzles together. I've only ever played two-player on it with my moms."

He looks at it nervously, "I'm not sure how well I'll do." Maybe he should be second player.

Oil Slick nuzzles him, "We'll do great! I know it! It isn't hard. I put it on easy, so that you can learn as you go. If you have problems, just ask me. If you want, you can play by yourself, a few times."

He shakes his head, "Maybe you should be first player?" He doesn't want to ruin this if it means that Oil Slick has only ever played with his creators.

The cyclebot shakes his head, "You can do it, I know you can."

"O-okay," Optimus stutters, focusing his attention on the screen. "What do I do?"

Oil Slick giggles, "We pick out what we want our characters to look like first." His half of the screen scrolls through options quickly. Optimus is left staring at a cartoonish model of a bot. He tentatively pushes one of the buttons, and the model type changes. Now he's staring at a jetbot. Oil Slick bumps against him, "You don't want that. If you're not good at the game, picking a flying character only makes it harder. Pick a truck or a tank."

He cautiously hits another button, and the model changes to a spaceship. "I don't know how to change it back."

Oil Slick reaches over and carefully changes his model to a truck, "There. That will make it a lot easier for you. Then you can modify him so he can have a few other things, but he's fine how he is right now until we figure out how you play."

He nods, just glad to get through this. "Right."

Oil Slick cuddles him, sighing happily, "It is really fun. We can do this."

Optimus fiddles with the controller, somehow turning his truckbot a bright lime green. He decides to stop while he's ahead. "I want to play now."

The game starts then, and Optimus finds his character across the room from Oil Slick's. Optimus plays with the controls until he figures out how to control his character, and which button makes him transform.

Oil Slick smiles at him, "You're doing good, Optimus. We have to figure out how to get out of the room, and we won't be able to do it alone. Ready?"

He's as ready as he can be for something like this.

* * *

It's several megacycles later, and Optimus is actually starting to get the hang of the game, working with Oil Slick through progressively more difficult rooms. The first time his character had died, Optimus had jerked back, startled by it. He's not used to games where you can offline. Now he's gotten used to the fact that there is very little actual consequence to his character dying other than making it harder on Oil Slick in the game.

Oil Slick pushes the controllers away, tugging him out of the berth, "It is time to fuel, Optimus. Let's go get energon."

He nods, "Okay." He tugs on the hood of his cloak, headfins feeling a little cold for some reason as they step through the hallway. "Where are we going?"

His servo is grabbed, and nicked slightly because of how sharp Oil Slick's claws are, "To the common room. My mamas and your papas should be there, and we can see if you'll be spending the night with me. I hope you are. I want you to be with me always. Maybe you can move in, since we're getting bonded."

"Betrothed bots aren't supposed to live together. It's inappropriate," Optimus remembers because that was one of the questions on the test. There were lots of ways to invalidate a courtship. It was that way on purpose, to make it easy for bots to get out of them if they didn't really want them.

Oil Slick makes a face at him, plates wrinkling up, "You're inappropriate. I want you to live with me, so you will live with me. If mamas allow it."

He sighs, "If they let us, then we will. But I'm not moving without my papas."

He's nuzzled, "I'm sure your papas can stay with us." He's pulled into a very large room, and Oil Slick smiles brightly, "Hello, mamas!"

Their creators are sitting on a couch, sipping on large cubes of energon, and talking quietly. Optimus frowns when he sees paint smears on his creators' chests, and matching ones on Oil Slick's creators's, as well. He wonders why Steelbolt is missing his chestwrap. His papa never goes without it.

Powerdrive frowns at him, "You're naked, Optimus. Why aren't you dressed properly? You should have your chest wrap and your hat on. Come here," he holds out his servos, and Optimus slowly sulks on over, letting his papa scoop him up and wrap his chest with a spare cloth, fitting his second-favorite fuzzy hat on his head. "There you go, sweetspark."

Optimus squirms, "Not fair. _You're_ naked."

Steelbolt gives Wildstar a dark look, "Through no fault of my own, sparkling. We'll fix that by morning." He's given a small kiss on the head, "You don't mind if we all spend the night here, do you? We _can_ go home if you wa-"

Oil Slick hops up into Glitterfrost's lap, "Can they, mamas? Please? Please? I want Optimus to stay! Please?"

The femmes both laugh, and Wildstar pats Oil Slick on the head, which still has the cap Optimus made for him, "Yes, of course. He can stay with us for the night. Powerdrive and Steelbolt are staying, too. You two need to take your energon, though. You can drink it in your room this sol, but only because you have Optimus over and this is the first night with him. Don't expect this special treatment all the time."

"Alright, Mamas." Oil Slick waits patiently as his creators offer him a cube, and pass another one to Optimus. "Did you give him special energon? Optimus needs special energon, because we're going to get bonded and I want him growing up big and strong."

Optimus sips from his cube and bites his lip to keep from making happy sparkling chirps. It's the best thing he's ever tasted. It's sweet and good and makes his glossa tingle just a little bit. He sips more, and Wildstar frowns at his cube, optics widening. She snatches it away from him.

"Who put high grade in the sparkling cubes?"

He can't help it, he makes a tiny sparkbroken sparkling chirp, then flinches, looking away. Glitterfrost looks at him, then pushes the cube back to him, "For Primus's sake, Wildstar, he _needs_ it. We discussed this with them, remember? Just give him the cube. Oil Slick doesn't have it, so don't worry."

There's a bit of furious whispering from the adults he can't make out, but Oil Slick moves over to him, sniffing his cube, "That's the special energon? It smells... icky."

He drinks more, loving how it warms his tank."It tastes delicious."

The cyclebot frowns, "Can I have a sip?"

He looks over at the arguing adults, then to ... his betrothed, and nods. "If you want, but if you don't like it, I don't think you should drink it. They did say that you don't have it, so maybe there's a reason for that."

Oil Slick takes a sip and immediately jerks away, "Ugh. That's _awful_. That's high-grade. Gross energon." He sticks his glossa out and scrapes at it with his claws, trying to get the taste to go away.

Optimus thinks it's delicious. He pulls the cube closer to himself and sips slowly, trying to make it last as long as possible. It's important to make good things last, because you don't get to have them very often. Optimus hates being hungry and having to tell his creators that he wants more energon, because they never have more for him.

He offlines his optics. "I like it," he murmurs quietly. "Are we going back to your room?"

Oil Slick shifts a little bit, "No. I want a second cube, because I always get a second cube, and mamas forgot this time."

He can't imagine being allowed a second cube, but he will be quiet and not complain, even if _he'd_ like a second cube. "Okay."

By the time he finishes his cube, the adults have finished their whispering, and returned to looking at them. Glitterfrost smiles, standing up, "I think _some sparklings_ are still hungry. Well, we can't let that happen, can we?" She walks over and gives them each two more cubes, gently pushing them off, "Didn't we say you could go fuel in Oil Slick's room? You have more than enough energon that you won't get hungry now, sparklings. If you do, just send us a text."

Optimus stares at his second cube, confused. He doesn't get to have this much energon for free. They must have made some mistake. "I've already had my cube," he says, offering it back to Glitterfrost, no matter how much he wants to just greedily gulp it down. Optimus knows that when he gets extra energon, his papas get _less_. One is enough, even if it leaves him hungry.

Glitterfrost gives him a strange look, and pushes the cube back into his servos. "We have plenty of energon, sweetspark. That is yours now. Go fuel with Oil Slick."

He looks over at his papas, "But I can't-"

Papa Powerdrive smiles at him, "It's _fine_, sparkling." Both of his papas hold up full cubes, "See? We're fine, you can have as much as you want."

He's still pretty sure that's a lie, and they're only saying that because he's upset and not sure what's going on, but he nods. "Y-yes, papa."

He interlocks his elbow with Oil Slick, smiling when he notices that his friend's gloves had hidden two long spikes on his arms, and allows himself to be lead away.

"And put your gloves and boots back on," Wildstar orders loudly.

Oil Slick hurries out with Optimus, "I'm not puttin' them back on. They feel weird and make it hard to do things. You don't mind, do you?"

He doesn't really like being naked, but he thinks Oil Slick has really pretty peds and claws. His claws are all sharp and hooked, and Optimus wants to hold them forever, even if they sometimes cut his fingers. "I don't mind. But if we go outside, you have to put them on, okay? We can't be indecent."

Oil Slick nods, "I don't mind wearing them _outside_. It's cold outside. I don't like being cold. But in _here_, I don't want to wear gloves and boots. I like curling up with you, because you're so _warm_. You're the warmest sparkling in class."

He leans his head on Oil Slick's shoulder, "I like curling up with you, too." That's mainly because Oil Slick is the only other sparkling that would let him cuddle, none of the others would. "You are very warm, too."

Oil Slick smiles at him brightly, "Good!"

Wiggling closer to Oil Slick, Optimus sips from his cube and watches Oil Slick select a new game to play on his console. "I'm just gonna watch this time," he says softly, feeling drowsy from the energon. He really wants to take a long stasis nap, but it's too late in the sol for one, and it will ruin his recharge.

Oil Slick hums, dipping his claws in his energon and licking them off, a terribly messy way to eat that Optimus has never seen before.

He drops his hat off the side of the berth, sipping his cube, "What's this game?"

Oil Slick nuzzles him, "This one is a different puzzle game, it is supposed to sharpen your wits, and test your skills. You can help me as I play."

He looks at the controller, "I don't-"

He's nuzzled, "I just mean that you can say the answers if you know them."

"Okay." He doesn't know many trivia answers, and as Oil Slick goes through the game, Optimus finishes his energon and feels his frame getting heavier, harder to hold up straight. His optics keep drifting offline, and he has to force them on again.

Eventually, he loses the fight, and ends up in recharge, head resting on Oil Slick's shoulder.

When he onlines later, he's underneath a metal blanket, and Oil Slick is curled up against him, also in recharge. Optimus wonders who tucked them in.

Rubbing the recharge from his optics, he sits up, and smiles when he sees a cube of energon for each of them on the table next to the berth. Taking one, he sips it slowly in the dark, trying not to online Oil Slick. He feels a bit disappointed when the other sparkling stirs and onlines, blinking his pretty green optics up at him. "Optimus?"

"Y-yes?"

The cyclebot's arms wrap around him in a sleepy hug, "I love you. We're going to be together forever and ever."

Optimus blushes and cuddles against him, "And ever. I bet we'll grow up and have lots of sparklings. Dozens of them, so they won't be lonely."

Oil Slick makes a face, "I don't really want sparklings." He pouts, "I'll have to share all of my toys with them, and I don't want to share with anyone except for you."

Giggling, Optimus slides his fingers down to Oil Slick's narrow waist, tickling his plating the way his papas sometimes tickle his, "I bet you'll change your mind later."

Oil Slick buries his face in his waist, "Nuh-uh. All I ever need is _you_."

He pets Oil Slick's back, "I think I want sparklings some sol. When we're older."

Oil Slick bites his lower lip, looking up at him with intense optics, "When we're older."

He yawns, putting his half finished cube to the side, "Tired." He snuggles back down into the berth, letting Oil Slick chose a more comfortable position on top of him, head right on his chest, "We should go back to recharge."

"You should take off this stupid chest wrap."

He frowns, then shrugs, "Okay." He squirms, managing to remove it, even with Oil Slick laying on top of him. "There."

Oil Slick takes it, and drop it off the side of the berth, snuggling closer. "There. Now we only have our cloaks, and that's _much_ better. If it was summer, we could take those off."

Optimus has _never_ taken off his cloak unless it was for switching to a different one, so he can't imagine recharging without one. "Won't it be cold?"

Oil Slick snuggles closer, "No. We'll have the blankets and metal meshes, and each other. We'll be fine." The other sparkling makes a pleased chirping sound, the sleepiness making him revert, "Time to recharge, Optimus."

Optimus is rather doubtful of this. His creators don't have a washrack, like he's seen in picture books, or like the one at the sparkling school. They wash with cloths over a small sink. He can't imagine being _naked_ alone, but with another bot?

Well, it is Oil Slick. His betrothed. He guesses it's alright.

* * *

**Please Review**

To anyone trying to add me on a messenger, I am not available on yahoo at all. I only use that for email, nothing else.


	3. Chapter 3

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

Many things have changed in Optimus's life since he met Oil Slick. His creators have become well-known for lace weaving, and have earned enough to move them into a larger apartment. Steelbolt and Powerdrive had turned down the femmes' offer to buy them a house, or to let them move in, and had purchased a place with two bedrooms and a washrack. Optimus had been delighted to have his own room by that point, because he had been dangerously close to outgrowing the little fold-out berth, and he wanted privacy.

They _had_ agreed to accept the beautiful new looms that Wildstar and Glitterfrost had offered. The looms were gorgeous, and one of them was for _Optimus_. He might have cried a little and clung to the loom the entire night when he was given it, but Optimus won't admit to it.

He has proper winter cloaks now. Summer cloaks too, and special wraps and hats to wear. It's wonderful that he doesn't freeze in winter any longer.

But the one thing he _doesn't_ have is a special festival wrap. They're too expensive.

Oil Slick doesn't seem to understand that. The mech smiles at him, holding out one gloved, clawed servo for him, "So, will you go to the festival with me, Optimus? I would be honored to spend the evening with you."

He leans on the door, shaking his head, "I already said no, Oil Slick. You will just have to go without me." It hurts his spark to have to insist, but can't go. Even if he wove a plain cloth and decorated it with lace, it wouldn't be fancy enough for a festival, he'd need to cover it with all sorts of crystals he just can _not_ afford. That would be fine for a sparkling, but not for a bot as old as him. He's almost to adulthood, only a few more decavorns, and he can not be so undecorated.

Oil Slick leans forward, those gorgeous green optics flickering at him, "Would you be willing to tell me why, Optimus?"

He shakes his head, "No. I'm sure you can already guess."

"You don't want me to take you?" Oil Slick teases him, slipping a servo up under Optimus's cloak, rubbing the edges of his chest wrap. "I'll behave, I promise." He rubs one of Optimus's seams, and the mech pushes his servos away.

"I don't have a festival wrap, Oil Slick. I can't go to festival without a wrap. Not the one you want to take me to." He looks away, "If you like, we _could_ go to the one in the lower city. They allow you to enter if you have a cloak on."

Oil Slick frowns, "They also have _nothing_ to do there. Just a few stalls."

He tugs Oil Slick close, wrapping his arm around his betrothed's slim waist, and holding him tightly in the way he knows makes Oil Slick's spark pulse, "But I can not go without a wrap, Oil Slick. You can go without me, or you can go to the one in the lower city." He rests their foreheads together, daring a quick kiss, "You go have fun if you go without me, though. I will stay home and weave. Don't worry, I won't be bored."

He most likely will, but he doesn't want Oil Slick to ruin his own sol and stay with him. Oil Slick should be able to have fun, even if Optimus can't.

Oil Slick gives him a sulky look, clinging to him tightly, and rubbing against him, "I want you to come with _me_. You shouldn't be forced to stay here just because you don't have a wrap." Oil Slick gets a calculating look on his face that Optimus has grown far too used to, "What if I get you a wrap fancy enough to get you into the festival?"

He sighs, "You can _not_ take any of your creators's wraps, or steal one, or anything like that. I'm not having a repeat of when you decided that I needed a new cloak and hat."

"Those weren't stolen. The shopkeeper just didn't notice that I'd left a credit pad for him on the counter, which got knocked down under the desk when he tried to chase me down. It's not my fault I'm significantly faster than him. The hat and cloak were paid for eventually." He smirks, "And the hat was perfect."

Optimus flushes a bit, reaching up to touch his helm reflexively, "You cut holes in the top for my headfins. It was obscene."

Oil Slick rubs against him sinuously, optics dim, "That's why I still have it in my subspace and you wear it when we're alone in my room, isn't it?"

He revs, glad that the cloaks dampen the sound, "Hush." He gently pushes Oil Slick away, "You go have fun at the festival, and tell me how it was." He presses a kiss to Oil Slick's cheek, "Love you."

Oil Slick sighs happily, nuzzling him, "Love you." His betrothed transforms, taking off to his home, away from the festival, most likely to get dressed, and Optimus smiles before returning back to his room.

He settles down in front of his loom and works on practicing his lace. He's nowhere near as good as Steelbolt, but he does a passable job. While it may not draw the attention that his papas' lace does, Optimus won't embarrass himself with it either. Unlike Oil Slick, who mangles every bit of lace weaving that he tries. Optimus finds it oddly adorable.

Sighing to himself, he lets the familiar tempo of the loom lull him into a restful state. Perhaps he'll visit Primus's temple the next sol, since classes were always canceled the sol after a festival.

After about two megacycles, there's a knock at the door, and he stretches a bit before getting up to go see who's there. He's rather surprised to see Oil Slick standing in full festival attire, looking proud of himself. "I had thought you had already left."

Oil Slick strides in, closing the door behind him, "Guess what I got you!"

His optics glide along Oil Slick's frame, and his engine revs when he can see just how _thin_ his betrothed's waist is without the cloak obscuring it. "A present?"

Oil Slick slinks over to him, showing off that grace that Optimus loves about him, "The _best_ present. You need to be more specific."

Optimus wraps his arms around Oil Slick's waist, feeling the soft metal fabric that keeps his servos from touching armor. "Did you come to spend the evening with me? I already told you-"

"I got you a wrap for the festival, sweetspark," Oil Slick coos in his audio. "But I'm not gonna give it to you for free. I want a kiss first. With glossa."

Heat brings a flush to his cheeks. "We can't. We-"

"Already do," Oil Slick interrupts. "We've kissed many times. I even kissed your glass chestplate once, remember?" He strokes Optimus's frame. "Don't be a spoilsport. Give me my kiss and I'll help you get dressed up for the festival."

He rests his head on Oil Slick's shoulder, blushing brightly, "I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into taking me off my chest wrap after we hit puberty."

Oil Slick rubs his aft, humming softly, "You also let me lick your headfins, and you make lovely little revvy sounds, just like how I gasp and writhe as you play with my head screws and toes. Give me a kiss with glossa, Optimus. That's what betrothed bots _do_."

He relaxes into the touch, knowing it _is_ true, and very glad that his papas are off at a festival on their own. "You're lucky I love you, or I wouldn't be doing this."

Oil Slick's optics dim with anticipation, and Optimus leans up a bit, kissing the other mech. The cyclebot has a very soft mouth, and Optimus offlines his optics to better enjoy it, letting his glossa dart out for a tiny taste. They very, _very_ rarely kiss this way, and Optimus squeaks as Oil Slick's glossa thrusts into his mouth, rubbing against his. Clawed servos squeeze his aft harder, enough to dent him, and Optimus mewls into the kiss, clinging to Oil Slick's shoulders.

He moves so he's pinning Oil Slick to a wall, knowing that this is how his cyclebot loves it. He'd get out one of his extra chest wraps and tie Oil Slick's arms up if he didn't know they were planning on leaving afterwards, since he knows that Oil Slick gets all revvy and adores being restrained. He pulls away when they're both venting hard, and Oil Slick leans against his chest, optics dim, "W-we need to do this... we need to do this more often, Optimus. All the time."

He rubs Oil Slick's back, groping his aft to make him rev, "We'd never get anything done."

Oil Slick dims his optics again, "Maybe. But you need to put on your wrap now." He thrusts a box at Optimus. "Go put it on. I'll wait for you."

Staring at the box dubiously, he asks, "Did you steal this?"

"No. I promise you, it was not stolen. Now go put it on." He gets shooed down the hall, and Optimus scowls. He locks his bedroom door behind him, knowing that Oil Slick would try to get in otherwise. Sure enough, he hears the door beep plaintively as he strips out of his cloak and chest wrap.

"You can stay out there, Oil Slick. I'm not letting you in here unless I need help."

There's a dull scratching that can only be gloved claws on the door, "But Optimus, I should be allowed to watch you put it on."

He rolls his optics, slowly removing his clothing and setting it to the side, "You said you would wait for me, didn't you?"

There's a pause, and the scratching is back, "You should let me in, anyway. I want to see you. I want to be with you always, and this door is locked. You shouldn't lock the door. You should let your betrothed in."

He shakes his head, even if Oil Slick can't see it, and starts to open the box, "I'm just going to be opening myself to get groped if you come in."

"Only a little bit." Oil Slick protests, but Optimus hears none of it, gasping at the sight of the wrap inside. It's _gorgeous_.

He lifts it out of the box slowly, letting the shimmering white fabric fall to the floor. The fabric has little crystal beads worked all throughout it, woven into the metal strands. The parts of the wrap intended to cover certain parts have long chains of crystals draping down, and Optimus can hardly wait to put it on.

He stands in front of the mirror and carefully wraps it around himself. Looking at the finished product, he knows he's going to have to thank Oil Slick properly later for this amazing gift. The fabric wrap covers both of his legs, starting just above his peds, and has a pretty skirt of hanging crystal chains at his waist, which flare out when he spins a bit. It's been designed with his model in mind, obviously, because the top is not a typical wrap, but a sort of shawl-like part that adds a second layer of cover over his chestplates. Each of his arms is carefully wrapped as well, and Oil Slick has even included a beautiful headdress for Optimus, which fits securely over his helm and has long chains of crystal draped down his back.

He opens the door, and he notices that it matches Oil Slick's outfit _perfectly_. As if they had been made for each other. His spark flutters in his chest, "How much did you _spend_ on this, Oil Slick?"

His betrothed puts a claw to his lips, smiling at him, "That doesn't matter, does it? Not when we're going to the festival, right?"

He rubs his face on the palm of his beloved's servo, optics offline, "I suppose, but we should hurry. I want to make it there before it gets dark."

Oil Slick smiles, "Because we can't transform in these. Come on, Optimus. Let's go." He's tugged hurriedly out the door, locking it behind them, "We're going to have so much fun."

Optimus links his servo shyly with Oil Slick's, "It's a beautiful wrap, Oil Slick. Thank you." He has never been to the main city's festival. When he was little, his creators had once taken him to the lower city festival, where one mech had been juggling glowing orbs, and a few stalls were open, offering sweets, but they couldn't afford any. He wonders what the real festival has to offer them.

Oil Slick nods, and then frowns at him, "You've got a bit of your headfins showing, Optimus. I guess the hat was a bit lacier than I thought."

He reaches up, gasping unhappily, "Oh no, I'll need to go get my hat from the-"

Oil Slick takes him by the arm, not letting him rush back home, "No. I know you still have some lace in your subspace. A hat will just look bad, love."

He frowns, and reluctantly pulls out one of the really _good_ samples that Papa Steelbolt gave him to work off of, and puts it on his head, "How's this?"

Oil Slick moves in front of him, gently adjusting it so it obscures his face but not his vision, "There, now no one can see your headfins." The bot pulls out a pin, gently affixing the lace so it won't tear, "And now it won't blow off in the wind."

"Thank you," Optimus says gratefully, tugging his wrap to adjust it. "I'm ready now."

Oil Slick purrs, groping his cloth-covered aft. "Yes, you are. And so lovely, too. It's going to be hard not to do wicked things with you at the festival, Optimus. It is the Allspark's festival. Good luck for bots getting bonded, if we happen to," he flickers his optics flirtatiously, "get in a bit of trouble while we're there."

He smiles, shaking his head, "I'm not 'facing you at the festival, Oil Slick."

He's given a sparkbroken look, "Am I not good enough for you, Optimus?" Oil Slick nuzzles him teasingly, "Only going to take my gifts and kisses, tie me up so I rev, but not use my spark like I so want you to?"

He rubs the cyclebot's side, shaking his head in amusement, "I think we're going to have to wait until then. I'm not going to mess up our nice clothing at a _festival_, for one thing. I want a berth, and I want to be able to take my time showing how _much_ I love you."

"Sweetspark," Oil Slick teases, "you can take your time with me anywhere."

Optimus pokes him and walks a little faster, "Flirt. Hurry your aft up, or we'll miss the entire festival. I don't want to miss it." He wants to see why it's so wonderful, because everyone who goes agrees that it is. He bites his lip, suddenly realizing that he left his creditpad back at his apartment. "I . .nevermind." He smiles. He can go without any of the treats there. He'll be fine just looking and watching Oil Slick. He can probably get Oil Slick to buy a cube of energon and share it.

Oil Slick nuzzles him happily, and they rush their way to the festival, passing through the gates in a way that Optimus never would have been able to before. The Festival is... gigantic, and it is very hard for him not to stare. He's glad that Oil Slick is there to pull him along, or he'd never be able to keep from looking like what he is, a bot that has never been to a festival other than the lower city one, and he smiles when they stop in front of the first stall. Oil Slick presses a kiss to his cheek, "I'd get you one, but I think it would get into your weaving."

He leans on the cyclebot, squeezing his servo, "Cybercats don't play well with looms, Oil Slick."

"Very true. You need a pet that likes small spaces, like that miniature apartment you call a home." He pulls Optimus along to another stall, "How about a pair of laserhawks?"

Optimus stares at him. "Small spaces," he repeats, and Oil Slick sighs, dragging him to the next stall. Optimus stares down at a pool of turbofish, the hardy, resilient kind that survives naturally on their planet, despite the pools and lakes freezing over much of the time. "These are nice."

Oil Slick tilts his head back and forth indecisively, "I think we should keep looking. If we don't find something better, then we'll get you ... this."

Optimus wonders why Oil Slick isn't fond of turbofish, but doesn't press, "If you say so." He squeezes Oil Slick's servo, smiling as they keep walking, "Nothing big, I'm serious. I can't have anything huge, and I don't want another incident like the turbofox."

Oil Slick frowns, "I hadn't meant for it to get out of the leash. I had thought it was secure."

He shakes his head, "You're just lucky that it went for the broken loom, and that nothing was around it. We could have lost so much work because of that."

Oil Slick stops and tips his helm up, curling his gloved claws around his cheek, "I would have paid for any of it that was broken or damaged. You know that."

He can feel the optics of other bots on them, wondering why two sparklings just past puberty are being so openly affectionate. Touching is not against the law, but it is certainly taboo with bots their age. Sparklings can get away with cuddles and affection when they are little, but once they hit puberty, the adults start frowning on it again. Optimus chooses to ignore them and wrap an arm around Oil Slick's waist.

Oil Slick rubs his side, murmuring softly, "Where should we fuel? I think we should stuff ourselves on candy. I want to treat you this sol, and you are _not_ allowed to bring out your creditpad to pay for anything at all. I know you love crystals, so how about we get something with a dusting of cora?" He's nudged playfully, "_Red_ cora?"

He makes a face, "You know they don't sell anything like that to to us. They check our IDs, and won't let us near it. Just like how we can't get high grade unless we get it from your creators's dispenser."

"I bet I can get high-grade for you here." Oil Slick leans in and whispers, "I have a false ID pad. I can buy you all the high-grade and red cora that you want."

Optimus flushes, slapping a servo on Oil Slick's chest, "No! We can't do that. We'll get caught, and then we'll have to go to court and it'll end up on our records. I'm not getting arrested for you, Oil Slick. I want to join the Autobots some sol, and I can't do that with a bad record."

Oil Slick flickers his optics prettily, "But you'd have _red cora_, Optimus."

He gives the mech a dark look, "_No_."

Oil Slick kisses him, "Maybe another time, Optimus." His voice turns into a seductive whisper that makes his spark pulse happily, "After we 'face a few times, maybe? You can drop some right on my spark, and watch as I cry and whine for you."

"Maybe after we're bonded," he protests, his cheeks red hot with embarrassment and lust. He's not going to interface with so much kink until they're properly bound to each other. He doesn't want to get a _reputation_. He's a good bot. "Oh, look," he tries to distract his intended, "look at how pretty these are." The crystal carvings are all very lovely, and Optimus wishes he could afford one of them. Even one of the tiny ones, carved to look like little sparklings unfolding from cube form.

Oil Slick smiles, "They are." He's nuzzled, "Which one do you want?"

He blushes, "You can't just get me one, I just sai-"

Oil Slick points to one that is of a cyclebot and truckbot, "How about that one? It isn't of our model types, but the idea is-"

He shakes his head, seeing how _expensive_ it is, "No. I don't want that. You don't need to get me one at all. I only said they're pretty."

"I know you, Optimus," Oil Slick says, kissing his cheek. "You say you don't want them because you think you don't deserve them." He scoops up the carved figure and holds it up for the booth owner, "I'd like to buy this. Could you put a protective wrap around it for me?"

"Of course," the bot says enthusiastically, enthused by the sale. "You made an excellent choice, sparkling. Your . . friend will enjoy the gift very much."

Oil Slick narrows his optics, "Optimus and I are _betrothed_." He angrily swipes his credit pad over the scanner and holds out his servo, twitching his claws demandingly. "Give it to me. I do not wish to be insulted and called a sparkling when I am clearly past puberty."

The bot looks huffy, putting the sculpture in Oil Slick's servo, "You are the same age as my sparkling, sparklings. I think that-"

Oil Slick glares, "And I'm sure that your sparkling doesn't like being called that by anyone but you or very close friends, either." The sculpture is carefully placed in subspace, and Oil Slick takes Optimus's servo, pulling him away, muttering angrily, "Rude fragging bot, see if we buy anything from him again."

Optimus nuzzles Oil Slick softly, squeezing his servo, then bringing it up to kiss softly, "Thank you for the sculpture, Oil Slick."

"You're welcome, sweetspark. You can make it up to me later." Oil Slick dims his optics. "I wonder how many kisses you'll give me to pay for it."

"Not many if you keep that sort of attitude about it," Optimus says primly, turning away from a booth offering something called 'whipped energon.' The price tag for it is simply outrageous. "I want to see what-Oil Slick?" he asks as he's tugged over to the booth.

Oil Slick leans over the counter and looks down at the vats of strange pink fluff. "What is that?"

One of the bots leans forward, smiling brightly, "Exactly what it says! Whipped energon!"

Oil Slick frowns, tilting his head and tugging Optimus closer, "How do you do that without making it explode?"

The bot smiles, "That's a secret. Maybe if you buy a cube we'll tell you."

Oil Slick gives the bot a flat look, "If we buy a cube, you _will_ tell us. I want to be able to see how it is done. We come to the festival to be able to see new and interesting things, not to just see a bot scoop something out of a vat, and declare that it is delicious."

"You pay to have delicious energon, not to have our family secrets," the bot retorts, and scoops out a tiny, tiny scoop of the fluff into a tiny cube, barely big enough for one sip. "Go ahead and try it."

Oil Slick takes the test cube and flicks his glossa into the fluff, blinking his optics in shock. "It's . . I _must_ know how you make it." The other half gets passed to Optimus, who stares at it a long time.

He's pretty sure this counts as an indirect kiss, right in front of the shopkeeping bots. He flushes, and sips the remainder anyways. He mewls, optics flickering at the little taste of it. It is sweet and delicious, and melts perfectly on the glossa. He licks his lips, barely keeping himself from licking the last of the little sample dish.

Oil Slick revs next to him, optics dim, not even looking at the bots selling the energon, "I'll take five cubes."

There's a lot of flustered shuffling, but it doesn't take long, and they're given six cubes, "Have the last one on the house."

Oil Slick swipes the creditpad, tucking all but one of the cubes away, and pulling out a rust stick, "I think we're going somewhere private, love."

Optimus follows, lured by the cube of delicious, amazing whipped energon that Oil Slick is holding. "Can I-" he reaches for the cube, and Oil Slick slaps his servo. "Ouch."

"You can't have any until we have some privacy. Slag, you had those shopbots revving for you. I could hear it." Oil Slick's optics look strange for a moment. "I don't like that." He tips Optimus's face up with a claw, "We'll eat it in private. You can make those pretty noises for _me_."

He blushes, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Oil Slick tugs him along, "You made better sounds than when I lick your _headfins_, Optimus. I'm not going to let you make those sounds for anyone but me. I'm the only one that can hear those now. Those sounds are for me."

He blinks in confusion, "If... if you say so."

"I do say so." Oil Slick ends up leading him into the Allspark temple, which is densely packed with bots waiting for a chance to make an offering to the Allspark's altar. Optimus smiles as he's led into a smaller room, empty of bots. Oil Slick closes the door, and guides Optimus onto a berth. His optics widen, and he looks from the berth to Oil Slick and back again.

"I . . we can't interface." Not yet. Not before they're bonded.

Oil Slick kisses him, "We aren't going to. If we 'face here, we'll get caught. This _is_ the Allspark temple, Optimus. I'm just going to feed you the energon." His pretty green optics dim, "I may end up kissing you a lot, but you have the wrap on, and I have mine on. We can't get them off without ripping them. We don't have to worry about that."

He smiles, glad for the reassurance, "Okay. I can accept that, then." He opens his mouth, blushing brightly, "You can feed me."

"Good. I wouldn't have it any other way." Oil Slick dips the rust stick into the whip and pulls it out, holding it right in front of Optimus's mouth. "Lick it off." Optimus flushes darker, leaning forward to take the stick in his mouth, letting his glossa curl against it as he sucks, cleaning the stick of the delicious energon whip. Again, it dissolves on his glossa, and Optimus mewls softly, feeling his spark give a gentle pulse of interest.

Oil Slick revs in response, and he turns away, blushing hotly, "Should we be doing this? I mean-"

The energon is placed in his mouth, silencing him, "No one will be upset, Optimus. You and I are both fully dressed, and all we are doing is eating. If you really want, we won't even kiss. You just keep eating like this. You're hungry, aren't you?"

He licks his lips, mewling happily at the taste, "Y-yes. I am. And it _is_ delicious."

More is gently placed in his mouth, "Then you have nothing to worry about. Just eat."

Optimus licks the rust stick, reluctant to let it go each time he cleans it of energon, mewling and whining, his engine rumbling with want as Oil Slick teases him, drawing the stick just out of reach, so he has to lean forward even more to get it. Oil Slick revs louder and louder, until there's a loud knock on the door.

"Sparklings, we saw you go in there. You will open up _right now_ or you will get in trouble!"

Oil Slick hisses with irritation, pacing over to the door to open it, "What the frag do you want?"

The templebot looks down at them both, studying their festival wraps. "We heard . . . rather inappropriate sounds."

Oil Slick puts his servos on his hips, "I was feeding my betrothed whipped energon. I wanted to do so in private. Am I not allowed to do this?"

The bot looks back and forth between Oil Slick and Optimus, "Well... no, but... I don't think that you should be alone in here. Where are your creators?"

Oil Slick glares, "What does that matter? We aren't doing anything inappropriate. Are you going to kick us out for fueling in the Allspark temple during a festival?"

"No, I suppose I won't," the templebot looks rather confused. "Why were you . . we could have sworn we heard . . ."

Oil Slick narrows his optics, "My intended enjoys whipped energon very much. I thought that you would _understand_ why we needed privacy for him to fuel. It would be _inappropriate_ for him to fuel on it outside."

The templebot frowns, "Still... I just..." He looks even more confused, "You shouldn't be..."

Optimus's blushing is painful in its intensity, "Oil Slick? How about we just... Let's just go home. We can look at the festival on the way out."

Oil Slick glares at the templebot, "Okay, Optimus, but only because that's what you want. I still need to get you a pet, anyway. I was thinking a lilleth. What do you think about that?"

He gets off the berth, letting Oil Slick take his servo and lead him out, "They're very pretty." The little glass birds are beautiful, and are kept in cages. "But I don't know if my papas will want one."

They also have to have expensive fuel. He knows he can't afford to fuel a lilleth.

"I'm going to get you one. If they don't like it, then it can come live at my house, and you will just have to visit every single sol." Oil Slick dims his optics, "Visit my berthroom every sol."

He doesn't think that's appropriate, but no one around them seems to have heard the offer. "Maybe you could get me a sculpture of a lilleth instead? Live animals are hard to take care of. They have to be trained to stay away from looms."

Oil Slick hums thoughtfully, "That _would_ be better. A different bot than the one we got the other sculpture from this time. We'll do that instead." Oil Slick kisses him on the cheek, whispering softly, "Love you."

He smiles, squeezing Oil Slick's servo, "I love you, too."

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

There is porn in this chapter. Cut it out, and it will be on livejournal. Or tumblr. I have one of those. I have a link in my profile if that's what you want to read it on. Not really sure why you do, but I am posting uncensored chapters there.

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

Optimus feels like his spark is being ripped right out of his chest. His optics keep darting from the pretty wrap that he wore to the festival to Oil Slick's creators, and back again. Over and over. He finally manages to squeak out, "Th-that... That was... Oil Slick took the bonding wraps and used them for the festival wraps before they could put the dye in them?"

Bonding clothing is different than normal clothing in the complexity of it, and in the fact that by the end of it, it is very carefully put in a special dye. It is meant to be ripped and torn off the frame on the bonding night, and the dye stays on your servos for the rest of your sols.

Of course, some bots choose to paint more traditional rings on their servos, but if you can afford the bonding cloth, then you are expected to use it. It's permanent dye. Even if you break your bond for some reason, you will remain marked forever. A tangible reminder of what you once had.

And Oil Slick has _ruined_ it by giving him the bonding cloth undyed, to be used as a festival wrap. He wants to cry. "D-does this mean we, we aren't . . ." He can't bring himself to ask if this has broken their courtship or not.

Glitterfrost rests a gentle servo on his cloaked shoulder, "It is alright, Optimus. You are not in trouble for this. Oil Slick is."

He starts to shake, spark hurting, "But... he... I don't... Are we going..." He can't finish his sentences, unwilling to even think about spending his sols without Oil Slick.

Wildstar glares at the bonding wrap, "Fragging disobedient sparkling. Now we need to make sure to lock up the next ones even tighter and not tell him where they are. He'll just make _those_ into a gift for you so that he can see you smile when he's perfectly capable of doing it in a less expensive way."

His spark stops clenching in such a painful motion, "S-so... so we _are_ still getting bonded?"

"Of course you are." Glitterfrost gives him a very gentle, very brief hug. "It would take more than Oil Slick being disobedient to break your bond." She smiles and taps him on the nose, "You haven't interfaced, have you? And you haven't been disloyal to each other. Your bond still stands."

Optimus sighs in relief, sinking down onto the couch behind him. "Oh, Primus. I'm so sorry, Wildstar, Glitterfrost. If I had known that the wrap was . . intended for me to wear at our bonding, I would have never let Oil Slick put it on me." He looks at the tattered remnants of some of the fabric. It really was designed to be worn once, and to wear it again required extensive repairs. He might have it fixed by the next festival a few decades later.

They both smile at him, and Wildstar pats him gingerly on the shoulder, "That's fine, Optimus. You genuinely didn't know. You hadn't been shown it, and the only reason that Oil Slick had even seen it was because he had snuck around the house and found them. You're okay. We won't let it happen again, and _you_ aren't in trouble for this." She takes a deep in-vent, offlines her optics, and kisses him on the forehead, "You're okay, sparkling. You're okay." She pulls away, "We're going to head home, your papas will be returning soon, too. Tell them we said hello. Oil Slick won't be visiting for a _very_ long time."

He nods sadly, understanding why, even if it feels like a punishment for him as well. "Yes, Wildstar."

Glitterfrost pats his head, "You be good, sparkling. Not that you're ever not."

He was bad sometimes. His creators had paddled his aft when he had stolen a piece of energon candy from the storage unit they used instead of a dispenser. He'd also missed homework assignments and occasionally pretended to be feeling ill to avoid going to class. He was not a perfect sparkling.

"I'll be good. I promise." He leaves their mansion, transforming down, his cloak settling around his truck frame easily, just as it is designed to. Optimus wishes that Oil Slick hadn't stolen the cloak from his creators.

* * *

Optimus sits very carefully on the couch, making a point not to let Oil Slick get too close to him, and looks very carefully attentive at his and his intended's creators. All four of the adult bots are whispering softly together, clearly discussing if they should _really_ be doing what they are about to do, since it is very obvious from Oil Slick's expression what his plan is the moment he gets the bonding wraps.

Optimus has been telling Oil Slick over and over that he will _not_ 'face him until they both have the cloth carefully in their subspaces, since that is the only way to make sure that the betrothal won't get dissolved if their creators find out. It would be their choice if they go through with it after that.

And Optimus has every intention of bonding with Oil Slick.

He loves the mech, or he's as close to love as he can be. It's hard to know what love is without a good reference, but it feels like love. His spark pulses around the mech, and he enjoys being with him all the time. He fidgets anxiously, waiting as their creators keep whispering, two boxes sitting between them. Optimus wants to snatch the boxes and run, and maybe elope with Oil Slick, but that would bring so much shame on their families. It wasn't something you _did_ after a long arranged courtship.

Eventually they stop whispering, and they are each slowly presented with the boxes of their respective bonding wraps by their own creators. Papa Steelbolt says to him, "Now, Optimus, you _must_ keep this safe. You will keep this in the very back of your expan-"

He takes the box, holding it tightly, "I know, papa. In the hidden area where no one can get to it, and it will be safe. It is my most precious piece of clothing, and no one should ever take it from me." There are stories of bots being knocked out and dressed as they were offlined. When they came to, they were bonded to a bot they hadn't wanted, and never wanted.

Optimus will hide his bonding wrap well, and only take it out for Oil Slick.

He is good at hiding things in his subspace. Optimus sighs and tucks it away as ordered, fitting the box into a secret place. He'll look at it later, in private, because bonding garments are the most private of things. You are supposed to let as few bots see them as possible, because each pair of optics that looks at them has the chance of adding bad luck to the cloth. It's a silly superstition, but Optimus isn't going to deliberately try and bring bad luck on himself.

Papa Powerdrive pats his head, "Very good, sparkling. You'll be coming home with us now. Say goodbye to Oil Slick."

He gets up, grabbing Oil Slick's servo, tugging the cyclebot off the couch, knowing that he can get away with it for this. He pins his intended to the wall, nuzzling him softly, whispering so their creators can't hear them, "When should I return to spend the night?" They aren't going to try to 'face at his place, the walls are too thin, and his berth isn't covered in wonderful heating blankets and metal meshes.

And Glitterfrost and Wildstar are _much less attentive_ than his creators are. They can get away with far more here.

"I'd like to say tonight, but they'll be watching us closely." Oil Slick licks the base of one audio-fin, which has come uncovered as his hat shifted a bit while he fidgeted. "Come tomorrow night. I'm going to frag you through the berth, and then you can tie me down and return the favor."

Optimus shudders with desire, "I like the sound of that. Should I bring anything special?"

Oil Slick pinches his aft playfully, "Just your gorgeous self."

He rubs against the mech, sparks heating, "Love you."

Oil Slick presses a kiss to his lips, "Love you."

He pulls away reluctantly, wishing he could do more, but knowing that he can't. He squeezes his servo, and turns to his creators, "I'm ready to go."

* * *

When he walks though the door the very next sol, he is not the least bit surprised to get tackled to the floor by an overexcited cyclebot, "You're here! Oh Primus, you're here! You took forever!"

He laughs, rubbing Oil Slick's sides, "I commed you just as I left my apartment, then you kept comming me every klik. Of course I'm here."

Oil Slick pushes him towards the berth, "Frag you. You took _forever_ to get here, Optimus. _Forever_. I could have written my graduation thesis in the time it took you to leisurely make your way over here." He sheds his cloak and gloves, unwrapping his chest wrap, and then Oil Slick stands completely naked in front of him. "Go on. Get undressed." He dims his optics, "Unless you need me to help you. I'd be glad to help."

He smiles, removing his chest wrap, and dropping it to the floor, "I was hoping to undress you on my own, but I can see you're very excited about this. I'll just get to remove your boots." He looks forward to taking off those boots, especially since he knows that he can get Oil Slick to tactile overload just by playing with his peds. He plans on doing something _incredibly_ filthy later on to his betrothed's peds if the cyclebot will let him.

Oil Slick shoves him flat on the berth, pushing off his hat and rubbing their chests together demandingly, "No clothing. Open chambers. Now. Now. Now."

Optimus laughs, and reaches down to tug Oil Slick's boots off, rubbing his peds lightly. "It's not a race, Oil Slick. We have all night."

* * *

He's the first to online in the morning, and Optimus blinks sleepily, nuzzling his helm against Oil Slick's chest. His plates have closed during the night, protecting his spark, and Optimus feels better than he ever has before. Oil Slick is still open, his cables out, his frame still tied to the berth.

The very first thing he notices is a datapad on the nightstand on the next to the berth, along with several cubes of what can only be high grade. He blushes brightly when he reads what is _on_ the datapad, which is a long and involved safety manual about bondage. It is very helpful, but it shows that Oil Slick's creators came in during the night and saw them like this.

Oil Slick blinks online next to him, spark fluttering, and Optimus leans over to gently untie him, "Good morning, love. I have good and bad news."

He pulls out a nanite salve to rub on the damaged parts of the cables as Oil Slick asks nervously, "Bad news?"

He nods, "I'm pretty sure your creators saw us last night while we were offline."

"Oh. That's not so bad." Oil Slick curls up against him. "They kept hinting that a good mech would make sure his intended was satisfied and not inclined to go looking for a charge somewhere else." He tugs Optimus down for a kiss, "We pretend that we don't know they know, and they pretend like they don't know, and it works out for all of us. Just like your creators will pretend they didn't notice you leaving last night."

He slowly spools the cables back in, gently taking out a toolkit to fix the pinched ends that he ruined, "They also left us a safety datapad. I don't think they like that I left you tied up like this."

Oil Slick's optics dim, park pulsing a little bit, "I did. It was nice. I onlined a few times to you rubbing your plates against me, before you opened up in your recharge and riding me _hard_. We should do this all the time."

He blushes, looking away, "I think I'd like it more if I could _remember_ doing these things."

"I like it just the way it is," Oil Slick purrs, "but maybe I'll wake you next time. You're selfish in your recharge. Didn't even overload me the first time you did it." Oil Slick's spark pulses against him, "Made me so hot, being used like a toy for your amusement."

Another flush, "Don't say things like that. I want to be _online_ when I 'face you, Oil Slick. You couldn't stop me, all tied up. What if I'd hurt you?"

Oil Slick squirms, "You stopped before I got hurt, so I don't see the problem." He's given a kiss, "But we should read the datapad together. We have energon, and my creators _clearly_ gave us enough fuel to keep going after we're done. So let's do this."

He kisses the top of his lover's head, flicking his glossa against the sensitive headscrews and pleased with the happy shudder he gets in response, "I'd like that." He wants to be able to keep Oil Slick safe in the berth, even as he has his beloved tied down.

* * *

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Like I said up top, porn got cut here. You can find it on my livejournal or tumblr. Links on my profile.**  
**


	5. Chapter 5

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

He presses a kiss to Oil Slick's servos, "It's only a few decavorns, and we'll be visiting every stellar cycle, so we won't miss each other. You're going to be going to be a ninjabot, and I'm going to bootcamp. We can stay true to each other. It isn't a big deal."

"It's a big deal because you won't be _with me_," Oil Slick insists, claws digging into his servos. "You will _not_ get to do whatever you please. I want you to come to ninjabot school with me. We can learn there together."

Optimus smiles and kisses his cheek. "I don't want to be a ninjabot, Oil Slick. I want to be an Autobot. You know I've been wanting this for ages. I want to," he flushes, "I hope that some sol, I might attain a Prime rank. We could live on Cybertron together."

"I don't like it."

He smiles, kind of wishing they were young enough to hug and kiss in public still, "I know, but it is only a few decavorns, like I said. We'll be together before you know it, and we'll spend every end of stellar cycle together. And every end of vorn break here on Haydon IV, just like the long decavorn break here, too. You won't even realize how fast it is over. Then I'll be a Prime, you'll be a ninjabot, and we'll be bonded." He kisses Oil Slick's gloved servos, murmuring softly, "On Cybertron you won't even have to hide your bonding marks. Won't that be wonderful? Everyone can see the marks all over your servos and know that I'm your's and no one else can ever have me but you."

Oil Slick narrows his optics, "I _still_ don't like it. I want you with me, Optimus. You should be at my side always." He drags Optimus against him. "I don't like the thought of other bots being closer to you than I am. I do not like it at all."

Optimus strokes his helm gently, "It will be alright, Oil Slick. I'm only interested in you. I will be loyal, and when we get our breaks, we can spend them fragging like crazy. It'll be really hot, I bet. I look forward to seeing just how hot I can get your spark when we don't have to try and stay quiet."

Oil Slick holds him tightly, and he can feel his beloved shaking in upset, "I don't want us to be apart. I love you, and you're supposed to be with _me_. You're mine, and I'm your's. We're going to be bonded. You aren't supposed to be doing this."

He rubs Oil Slick's back, "We'll be back together again, you know this. Something like this won't tear us apart. You know it won't. We're going to be together, and you know it. I love you." He needs to join the Autobots, since it is the best way to earn more money. He can't just be a blight on Oil Slick and just not _earn_ anything. He wants to prove he's worth something, not just sit there and be pretty. He can show that he can make it and not just make Wildstar wish she had never picked him up when he was a sparkling and frightened him.

He'll be a Prime, and they'll be proud of him. Finally.

Oil Slick will learn to accept it. Oil Slick will be proud of him some sol, when he's a Prime, and he's wearing an Elite Guard insignia. When he graduates from bootcamp, he's going to apply to the Academy, and then the real training will begin. It will be difficult, but he'll do it.

Oil Slick's optics well up with lubricants, and Optimus's spark twinges. He hates when the mech cries. "Hey, don't be sad, Oil Slick. We'll see each other often, and I'll com you or send you a message every single sol. I promise."

Oil Slick gives him an upset look, then nods, "Every single sol?"

He nods, "_Every_ single sol. We can do this. You know we can. I love you."

Oil Slick offlines his optics, reluctantly pulling away, "I love you."

He presses a kiss to his betrothed's gloved servos, "We'll see each other soon enough. Let's get on our ships, and we can go."

Oil Slick kisses him then, a deep, filthy kiss that is completely inappropriate for public, glossa thrust into his mouth, trying to coax him into equally filthy acts. Optimus kisses back for a blissful moment, and then stops, breaking away. "No. We . . we have to go now, Oil Slick." He steps back, and picks up the carefully packed subspace bag that Oil Slick's creators gifted him with to carry his extra supplies. "I love you."

Oil Slick gives him a sad look, putting away his own bag, "I love you, too."

He heads to the ship, walking as slow as possible away from his intended, having already said his goodbyes to his creators before this, and finally steps into the ship.

Optimus... is not happy. He really is not happy. He was flown to Cybertron, and then he was told that since he was from Haydon IV, one of the few clothing required planets, he needed to submit to being blasted with an EMP so they could empty his clothing subspace and search for contraband. They were doing this for _everyone's_ subspaces, but clothing just gets a more though look. He hopes that means that they're _careful_ with it before it is put away and taken from him until breaks and graduation, but he doesn't have much hope of that.

Having his loom taken will be the worst part. He's had his loom with him since it was given to him many decavorns ago. To be without a loom is . . almost unthinkable.

He also hopes that they don't realize that he is still technically underage, and should not be allowed to join the Autobots. He has parental permission to be here, but Autobot law requires that you be a full adult before you join, adult consent or not. He sits on the medical berth, waiting his turn in the private, curtained off rooms. He cannot see the other bots being searched, but he can hear the medics going through their subspaces, commenting on recording what they find.

There's a sound of cursing and and he's fairly sure that someone had trapped their subspace. He can't really think of a _reason_ for doing that, other than angering the medics, and he wouldn't want a medic upset with him. Especially if he's going to be offline for this.

It isn't long before his name is called, and he sits on the medical berth. The medic holds up a datapad and several containers, "Is there anything in specific that I should realize about your clothing and how it is organized?"

"I have it placed by colors and seasons. I'd like them to stay that way."

The medic nods, "If you'd label the containers, we can put them that way, and it will make it easier when we give them back to you."

"Thank you." He takes a stylus and gently taps on the labeling screens for each container, selecting appropriate titles. There are really only three seasons on Haydon IV. Winter, which lasts most of the stellar cycle, spring, a few brief decacycles when the snows start melting, and summer, which is nearly as brief, and slides immediately into winter without much warning. His clothing will need to be separated into six bins, a light and a dark set of clothes for each of the three seasons. His bonding cloth . . they cannot have his bonding cloth, but it should be well hidden and they should not find it at all. They can put his festival cloth - which he has actually transferred the jewels and other crystals onto a much sturdier metal mesh from the former easily ripped bonding wrap - in with the spring clothing, since the festival is held each vorn in the spring.

The medic inspects the containers, nodding in satisfaction, "Very good, you can lay down on the berth, and we'll have an itemized list of all your clothing and everything else. You are welcome to tell us if we missed anything. We will tell you if we removed any contraband, and that will be sent back to your home planet, or properly disposed of depending on the level of danger."

He frowns, but nods, he knows that he doesn't have anything that is banned, since he read through what is or isn't allowed, and made sure that he didn't take anything that wasn't. Just like he made sure that Oil Slick didn't take anything that wasn't allowed, either. He didn't want his betrothed in trouble.

Optimus offlines his optics and feels the sharp shock of the EMP blast, and then the world goes dark.

He onlines an indeterminate time later, checking his internal chronometer to see that two breems have passed. He blinks his optics online, and is treated to the sight of several frowning medics and an Elite Guard security officer. Optimus flinches, "Have I . . is there something wrong?"

The first medicbot stares at him. "You have something hidden in your subspace. You will remove it slowly and allow us to inspect it."

He knows instantly what it is, since moving slightly, everything in his subspace feels so _empty_ - except for where his bonding wrap is hidden. "No."

The bots look at each other, optics narrowing, "If you don't, we can only assume that it is a weapon and that you ar-"

Optimus gives them a blank look, "You can't put weaponry in a clothing subspace."

The Elite Guard crosses his arms, "Yes, you can."

He shakes his head, "No, you _can't_." The very idea of putting a weapon in it makes him _sick_. You only put clothing in it, because storing weaponry is what a normal subspace is for. "Weaponry can _damage_ clothing. You don't put something like that in there. It would tear it apart or-"

"Just take out what's hidden."

"No." Optimus flinches back, away from the guard's servos. "It is private. You cannot take it from me."

"Kid, if we have to, we have authorization to have you medically sedated and taken to Elite Guard headquarters to have your subspace stripped by one of the professionals to find out what you're hiding," the guard warns, and Optimus looks away.

"It's," he blushes, "it's my bonding wrap. You can't have it. I know Autobot policy. You can't take a bonding wrap from a betrothed bot. It's illegal."

The medic blinks at him, the turns to the guard, "You know the drill, go get the Magnus."

The guard curses under his venting, "We just _had_ a bot with a bonding wrap. I'll go get him. I hate when this happens."

The bot leaves, and the medic gives him a dirty look, "You'll be sitting in here until the Magnus gets here. Here's the list, look over it."

He's given the datapad, and starts to read.

Nothing is missing from the list, though he's a bit puzzled to find that they've clearly put a few of his winter cloaks into the spring box. Perhaps there was not enough room in the winter one. He'll just have to organize them later, when he has a better chance. If he goes for the boxes now, they'll assume he's trying to sneak something in or out of them. "The inventory looks fine," he says, offering the pad back to the medicbot.

The medic frowns, "Are any mis-organized?"

He gives the mech a relieved look, glad for the opening, "Yes. Several of winter cloaks are in the spring box. They shouldn't be there."

The medic nods, "We ran out of room, but we'll get another box to put them in, and you can watch as we transfer the stuff over to make sure we're doing it right. I know that some of you don't like it when we fold the things, and you being up will only help."

He smiles, "I can do that."

The medic makes a com call, and they're soon working on placing everything carefully in the boxes exactly how Optimus likes; even going as far as letting him put the festival wrap in a special box where it won't be damaged along with his large selection of hats and laces.

Optimus feels very naked in front of them, because they required him to strip out of his cloak and chest wrap and hat very early on, leaving him naked when he stepped out onto Cybertron. What a culture shock that had been, seeing so many bots on the docks, completely naked. Granted, Cybertron was fairly warm, but they still should have been wearing light cloaks. They had no modesty at all.

His headfins keep twitching, and the medicbots keep looking at them, and he feels so ashamed by it all.

He is relieved when the Magnus shows up, talking to the Elite Guard in hushed tones before turning to him, "So what is this about a bonding wrap?"

He crosses his arms, looking away, "I can't show it off to just anyone, It is bad luck for lots of optics to see it. I demand that the medic and that the guard have their optics offline."

The Magnus smiles, optics dim and very _clearly_ drifting along his frame - Optimus wonders if he'd even notice that if he didn't have to deal with Oil Slick's constant molesting of him - "I'm perfectly fine with that. We just need to make sure that it really is a bonding wrap and then you can return it to your subspace."

"Thank you." He waits until the bots have their optics offline, and then carefully reaches into his subspace, withdrawing his wrap slowly. He lays the box on the medical berth. "They may scan the outside of the box if they want, but they cannot look inside at the wrap." The guard scans it, scowls, and then turns his back, optics offline again.

"It's registering as safe, Ultra Magnus, sir."

The Magnus nods, and Optimus can feel the weight of his optics sliding along his shoulders and chestplate. "I have no doubt that you are carrying a bonding wrap, but the formalities must be carried out. Please show me the wrap."

Optimus looks away, and then opens the box. "Here."

The Magnus hums softly, then replaces the top, "An exact partner for the one that I had to inspect earlier, I see." The bot moves quickly, and if Optimus hadn't been half expecting it, he wouldn't have called it a pat on his aft at all.

He slaps the Magnus's servo sharply. "Sir! Are you in the habit of molesting bots that are promised to another?"

At that, the other two bots online their optics in shock, looking in confusion at Ultra Magnus, and the Elite Guard says, "Sir? What is he talking about?"

The Magnus only smiles, "I'm sorry if I upset you, cadet. You can't blame an old mech for trying." He pats Optimus's shoulder, "I hope to see you at your graduation ceremony," the bot trails off, waiting for a designation.

"Optimus." He narrows his optics a bit, "I do hope you don't go around patting afts at the graduation ceremony either."

Ultra Magnus chuckles, "Only for very special cadets, Optimus."

He puts his bonding wrap in his subspace, tucking it away in the hidden area so it won't be found and glaring angrily, "Right." He turns to the medic, "Are we done here?"

The bot nods, "Yes, we need the area to check the subspaces for other bots. You head on out to the barracks. We'll be assigning you to a troop in the morning. Get a decent recharge, lights out is in a few megacycles."

He nods, walking away and avoiding getting too close to the grabby servos of the Magnus. He has the datapad with the information where his assigned berth is, so he heads right there. He's going to com Oil Slick, and hide under his heating blankets to forget how naked he is.

The bunkhouse is huge, with bunks of various sizes interspersed throughout. He's in bunk 15C, and it's sized decently enough for his frame. It's nowhere near as nice as Oil Slick's berth, but it's about the same as what he's used to recharging on. He unfolds the heating blanket and wraps it around him like a makeshift cloak, huddling back against the wall, pressing his fingers to his temple. There are a few other bots here, two already in recharge, another on the opposite side, having a hushed comcall of his own.

"Oil Slick," he whispers, wondering if his betrothed is even online.

"Optimus," comes the dopey and happy drawl, "there you are. I tried contacting you, but you weren't answering."

He smiles, cuddling against the wall, "I was most likely having my subspace searched when you commed me, love. How are you?"

"Did you know... that they have purple cora in the gardens here? It is so wonderful, and I am going to send you some."

"Are you allowed to poach crystals from the garden?" Optimus rubs his blanket lightly, wishing Oil Slick was there to hold him. "I don't want you getting in trouble on your very first sol there." He smiles to himself, "Did you get searched by the Magnus too?"

"I did. He's a rather rude bot, don't you think?" Oil Slick sounds irritated. "He touched my bonding wrap."

That was rather rude, but he'd been much kinder with Optimus. "Oh, I don't know," Optimus teases. "I think he's a very attractive mech, for his model type. You don't see many of them around anymore."

Oil Slick is silent for a long moment, and Optimus wonders what he said wrong. Finally, Oil Slick answers, and his tone is a bit ugly, "Did he do anything to you?"

He makes a face, "He tried to pat my aft, but I slapped him. I don't think he'll try it again. I'm not going to let him get near me for that."

There's a little bit of shuffling and Oil Slick says, tone possessive, "I don't want anyone to do that to you. Do you think he did it because they took away your clothing?"

He shudders, "I hate that they took away my clothing! I feel so naked here! It is like they can't even let me have the smallest shred of modesty. They won't even let me keep a single hat. I like my hats, but they don't even like it for _decoration_. Caldoon IV has clothing for decoration. What's wrong with clothing for decoration?"

Oil Slick seems to relax at the subject change, "I like how warm it is here, especially in the patch of purple cora I'm in. There's this sunbeam, right on my chamber, and I have several cybercats, just curled up right next to me, recharging. It is really peaceful."

Optimus smiles, knowing just how happy Oil Slick must be. "I'm glad you like it. It sounds very pretty there. Maybe I can come by on leave time and see it?"

Oil Slick makes a sad sound, "They won't let a non-ninjabot into the garden, but I'll take some vids of it for you, sweetspark. We can go to one of the public gardens instead, and share whipped energon together." His voice turns seductive, "And then we can find a private place and share our sparks with each other until we offline from pleasure."

They won't be doing that in public, for certain. Luckily, there are probably several hotels nearby that will offer affordable rates for the night. Then they can have a proper berth to share. "That sounds . . . wonderful."

Oil Slick's engine purrs happily, "Then we should do that very soon, Optimus. The very moment they let us." The cyclebot laughs softly, "Did you know... did... did you know that they.. they actually ... they actually asked me if I was a _virgin_ when I said I was betrothed to you and had my bonding wrap. As if any bot that still had their bonding wrap would wait."

Optimus can't help it, he laughs with him, the idea is absurd. It is true that you _pretend_ that you don't, but no one does. It is just something that you say you do, but never hold true to. "And, of course, you said you were." You have to say you are. Or your betrothal is dissolved.

He can almost see Oil Slick nodding, "Of course."

"Did they believe you?"

Oil Slick snorts, "Not if they have more than half a functioning processor. Yoketron looks like he wants to paddle my aft for lying so obviously to him, but that's stupid. And I'm not letting him." His voice lowers, "You're the only mech who gets to play with my aft, Optimus. You should come over right now and play with it."

He smiles, cuddling up in the blanket with his optics dimming, "I don't think they want us associating with the ninjabots, Oil Slick. If they did, they wouldn't have put us on different ships. I could have had you on my lap the entire time if it had been allowed."

Oil Slick makes a disappointed sound, "I just want you here. I could find out were you are and sneak into your berth. I bet that would be allowed. Maybe they find ninjabots in the berths over there all the time. I'd just be one of several."

He shakes his head, even if Oil Slick can't see it, "No. You aren't going to do that. I'd command you, but that will only get you revving. I want you revving for me later."

"Fine. Be that way," Oil Slick snaps at him. "What I want clearly doesn't matter to you."

Optimus vents slowly, "I just don't want you to get in trouble, Oil Slick. I-"

"Frag off, Optimus. If you don't want me to come over so you can frag the Magnus, see if I care." The call disconnects, and Optimus rubs his optics wearily. Sometimes Oil Slick got like that. The only thing he could do was wait the mood swing out and let Oil Slick realize he was being an aft.

"That could have gone better," he mutters to himself, laying down on the berth. There are still several megacycles 'til lights out, but he could do with a bit of extra recharge.

* * *

**Please Review**

I never have much to say, but I can answer any questions if you have them. Just as something you should know.**  
**


	6. Chapter 6

Porn cut from this chapter.

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

In his downtime, Optimus sews. It isn't much that he sews, but it is something to do with his servos, and he is allowed to do it and not get in trouble. He mainly makes little dolls and things like that because they go into his clothing subspace on the shelf that his hats used to go, and he can put a new shelf when he gets his hats back. He's taken to sending a doll to Oil Slick at the end of every decacycle, since that's when the packages come in, and the gift exchange is always welcome.

Oil Slick always sends him candy that he made, since the cyclebot has access to a kitchen. This decacycle he was promised something a surprised that he is assured he's going to _love_.

Opening the package cautiously, he tilts his head, then starts to laugh when energon splashes all over the table. The datapad attached excitedly explains that Oil Slick has _finally_ figured out how to make him whipped energon, and he is going to love having it.

It seems that it doesn't travel very well.

He swipes his fingers through the mess and licks them, smiling at the taste. It's no longer whipped, but it's still a good grade of energon. He'll tell Oil Slick that he liked it, but it just doesn't transport in whipped form.

"What is that mess?" an arrogant voice asks behind him, and Optimus turns to face one of the bots from his bootcamp, Sentinel, standing with his arm around Elita-1's waist. He's not sure how the femme tolerates the arrogant mech, but maybe he's very good in the berth.

"My betrothed tried to send me whipped energon, but it didn't do very well."

Sentinel gives him a arrogant look, "Of course not, he didn't even put a lid on top of it to keep it stabilized. There was no way it could have made it across the room, much less from wherever he is to here."

He hums agreeably, "I'll be sure to tell him that, thank you."

Elita-1 gives him a sharp look, "Why was he trying to send you whipped energon, anyway?"

He smiles, "Because he knows I love it. Ever since our first festival together, we loved it."

"Festival?" Elita-1 detaches herself from Sentinel's frame and comes closer to him, sitting herself on Optimus's lap without even asking permission. Femmes were so very pushy. "What sort of festival did you attend with him? And why haven't we met this betrothed of yours yet?"

Optimus shifts uncomfortably under her. "He's a very busy mech at the ninjabot academy. We get together when we both have time off, and we go out in the city. He doesn't like the way the bootcamp looks."

They mainly spend the entire time in a hotel fragging their processors out. If Elita-1 is trying to join them, she is going to be told in no uncertain terms to leave.

Elita-1 tugs Sentinel down next to them, holding his waist possessively, "We should join you sometime. Have a double date. Wouldn't that be fun?"

He isn't sure if that would be fun at all. Oil Slick does _not_ like it when bots look at Optimus unless they have on clothing. "Do... do either of you have clothing?"

Elita-1 shakes her head, but Sentinel nods, "I have a cloak and a hat. I'm not from a clothing required planet like you are, but... I like them. They look nice. I... I saw that you... You have lace that you put on the dolls that you make sometimes. Lace and tatting and other things like that. Do you do that a lot?"

"It gives my servos something to do." Optimus answers as simply as possible. "Why?"

The blue mech blushes a bit, and looks away, "I was wondering . . well, hoping, really, that you'd be willing to make some decorations for me." He coughs, and then looks arrogant again, "It's something you should be happy to do for me. For a fellow Autobot."

Optimus arches an optic ridge, "I accept commission work, but I won't do it for free. Making enough lace and tatting to cover a cloak and hat take a very long time, especially when I have to do it by servo. My loom is in storage, and I am being discouraged from trying to use it. They want me to get used to being without clothing."

Elita-1 frowns, "But what does clothing have to do with meeting your betrothed?"

Optimus looks at her, "Let me put it this way, you are suddenly on a planet where everyone is in protoform. You are only allowed to have your armor on very certain times, and they only give it to you reluctantly. How would _you_ like it if everyone keep trying to sneak peeks at your betrothed?"

She glares at the table, "I'd take out their optics."

He smiles, "Exactly. If you want to meet him, I can let you borrow one of my hats and cloaks. Do some modification of my chestwraps, and a few other things, as well."

"If you insist," she sighs dramatically, "but I'm not going to wear second-hand clothes. If you want me dressed, we are going to a proper tailor. I know there's one over near the docks. He caters to some of the wealthy bots that visit, and the idle rich who want something unusual. We can go right now, in fact." She gets off his lap and tugs him up. "We'll get you something nice too. My treat." She taps a claw against her mouth, "Maybe something just a bit naughty. He'd like that, wouldn't he?"

Optimus flushes, "No. Absolutely not. I won't let you treat my clothing like . . some kinky fashion statement."

She waves a servo, tisking, "Then we will get you something you'd never wear for any reason on Haydon IV, and you will just have to live with it."

He sighs softly, "Very well."

He's tugged out of the bench, and he gathers up his things, pushing them into his subspace before he can forget them. He just wishes that he had his clothing as he steps outside of the bootcamp, feeling exposed and vulnerable without his hat, chestwrap, and cloak.

Sentinel crosses his arms, striding along, "You should com your betrothed, and tell him to sneak out to come with us. We'll get him something, too."

"No. He really won't be happy to see you until you're dressed." Optimus is . . worried about some of the messages he's been getting from Oil Slick. The mech is so intense in his jealousy. And he somehow knows what Optimus is doing most of the time. He supposes gossip travels fast, but it still worries him. "We'll get something to wear, and then I'll com him and ask if he wants to come out. We could maybe stop at a cafe for some energon."

Elita-1 gently touches his shoulder, "We can go to Sentinel's family's cafe. They make delicious whipped energon there."

He smiles, "I think that would be nice. I can tell Oil Slick in person that whipped energon doesn't really travel well."

Sentinel nods. "That would be a good idea."

They walk a little more, and Elita-1 asks, "Do you have any cloaks or anything in your subspace right now?"

He shakes his head, "No. They took them all. I can't really do anything about it. Like I said, they want me to get used to not having any."

Sentinel hums thoughtfully, "We'll get you an entire outfit in exchange for the decorating my hat and cloak, and you can store it at my family's store."

He knows exactly how well that will go over with Oil Slick. "No thank you. I'm sure I can find someplace to store it. I know that there are public storage facilities and lockers around the city. I could rent one of those to keep it in."

They both look at him for a long moment, and Sentinel answers, "If that's what you want, Optimus. I'm more than willing to pay part of the storage fee too, if you'll keep making things for me." It would be an acceptable deal, depending on the price of the storage unit.

He nods, "We'll see."

They walk into the clothing store, and he relaxes at the atmosphere of it, feeling much more comfortable. He walks around, letting the tailor home in on Elita-1, since femmes are _always_ the ones that need to be attended to first. He's not really looking for anything, anyway. If they get him an outfit, he'll see what he gets.

Optimus settles down on a waiting bench as the tailor coos over Elita's frame, circling around her to drape test swatches of fabric and lace on her frame. "Oh, you look so lovely. I am honored to get to clothe a femme like yourself, Elita-1," the tailor purrs, pulling a bolt of cloth from a shelf. "I think we should use the violet cloth. It will look gorgeous on you."

Elita-1 studies the cloth and nods, "But nothing too restrictive. I am not used to wearing clothes."

The bot nods, starting to describe various cuts and styles that look good on her model type. Sentinel walks over to him, holding a faux-turbofox fur chest wrap up against him, and humming thoughtfully, "Yes? No?"

He raises an optic ridge, "I didn't even wear fur on Haydon IV, Sentinel. Why would I wear it around my chest on _Cybertron_? I'd roast."

Sentinel frowns, "You sure? I've seen other bots with it."

He rolls his optics, "You've seen minibots and _cyclebots_ with it. They're not as large as I am. Their sparks don't put out as much heat as me."

Sentinel chuckles, and whispers, "Don't talk to Elita about spark heat, or you'll find yourself in her berth, not really sure how you got there." The mech winks at him, and then sets the wrap aside, picking up something gauzy instead. "How about this one?"

Optimus rubs the fabric, fascinated by the way the light shines through it. "What is this made of?"

"It's a special blend of crystal fibers," the tailor says enthusiastically, overhearing his question as he pins cloth on Elita's frame. "Very difficult to make. Only the weavers can make it, and you know how reluctant they are to produce bolts of cloth for bots larger than they are."

He frowns, "They are?" He's never heard of that.

The tailor looks confused, and Sentinel sighs softly, "He's from Haydon IV."

Optimus hadn't realized that the tiny little bots all over the place on his home planet were unusual. They are just... there. They're nice enough bots, if grouchy at times. Optimus spent a lot of time in the shops of a few, talking to them about making lace and bargaining with them about Papa Steelbolt's lace and doing a few other things. He had managed to convince them to fix his festival wrap once before he transferred it over to the better cloth. They had be _so amused_ by his story about what Oil Slick had done. Calling his betrothed the naughtiest sparkling they had ever heard of. He had been given a very large bolt of fabric he ended up giving to Wildstar and Glitterfrost for the tale, and he is fairly sure that got made into his current bonding wrap.

Lifting the fabric closer, he frowns. It _does_ look a bit like what Spindle used to make, but it's significantly filthier than Spindle's fabric. The tiny weaver had knit the fibers much sturdier, and had incorporated some insulation as well, to keep the wearer both modest and warm. This fabric is barely thick enough to consider an actual fabric. "Whoever made it did a terrible job. The fibers are all out of alignment."

The tailor frowns at him, "It's the best they'll sell to us."

Optimus sighs, and then glances at the price tag, his optics widen with shock. "Primus. Does anyone really pay that much?"

Sentinel nods, "Of course they do. That's the asking price for it. You aren't going to get it to go any lower, Optimus."

He pushes it away, "I have no interest in something like _that_ when I can just go home and get something far better and cheaper."

The tailor gives him a hopeful look, "Do you think you'd possibly be willing to buy things from the weavers on planet for me and-"

"_No_." He will not disrespect them like that. They do not sell to bots off planet for whatever reason, and he isn't going to ruin whatever treaty it is Haydon IV has with them for this... tailor. He doesn't care if there's a profit in it, or anything like that. He likes the weavers. They've been nothing but nice to him, even if he barely pays much mind to them.

"That's too bad." The tailor sighs, "But I understand. You've got a good thing going with them on Haydon. A really good thing. Too bad the planet is so prudish and essentially a ball of ice for most of the stellar cycle." He pulls an elaborate cloak lined with shimmering fibers and trimmed with glittering lace and drapes it over Elita-1's shoulders. "There. You're lovely. Shall I work on your mechs this sol as well?"

She nods, "Optimus needs a full outfit, and Sentinel... Sentinel needs..." she tilts her head back and forth, looking at him thoughtfully, "He needs... Optimus, what does Sentinel need?"

He looks at the mech, knowing that Sentinel has a hat and a cloak, "He needs a chest wrap." It will keep Oil Slick from getting irritable about seeing sparkplates. "I don't know what color it should be, but it should match his hat and cloak that he already owns."

Sentinel smiles, "Those are blue. The same color as my paint."

"Then it should be a pale blue." To give some contrast, because dressing in the same color as your paint is terrible. "And," he shuffles over to a shelf full of easy lace trim in a golden yellow color, "we should attach this temporarily to your hat and cloak." It would help the bot look acceptable. Optimus will try and talk the mech into more sensible clothes later.

The tailor clucks his glossa, "You, go now, get that cloak and hat and I will see what I can do to fix them. I will work on your friend while you are gone." He shoos a protesting Sentinel out of the shop. "Now, for you," the bot wiggles his fingers at Optimus, "I am thinking something . . . pretty. Sparkly."

He gives the bot a flat look, "And I will look like a whorebot. No."

The tailor pouts, "Why do all the Haydon IV talk like this? So blunt about not wanting to look like a prostibot? You _won't_ look like a prostibot. You're just going to be wearing a sparkly outfit. I'm sure that you'll be wearing-"

Elita-1 walks over, holding up two articles of clothing, "I want him to have these with a hat, a cloak, and a chest wrap."

He blinks, taking them from her, "I've... I've never actually _worn_ gloves or boots before. Are you sure? I mean... I don't know if I should. Are you sure?"

"What's wrong with wearing _more_ clothing?" Elita asks him, and Optimus can't answer her. There's nothing wrong with _more_, so long as they don't draw inappropriate amounts of attention to a bot. He meekly lets her fit the gloves and boots on him, the tailor getting inappropriately close to make adjustments. No bot on Haydon has to be so close. You put the item on, they note where the problems are, and you take it off for them to adjust it. No touching necessary, unless the tailor is a pervbot.

By the time that Sentinel has returned, the entire outfit has been fitted perfectly, and he's looking at it carefully in the mirror. The boots feel a little odd on his peds, and he can see why Oil Slick kept complaining about gloves as a sparkling, but he thinks he could easily grow to love them. Elita-1 fluffs up the faux-turbofox fur on his shoulder on the cloak, and says, "It looks really good on you, Optimus. I may demand that you add lace to some of my clothing, as well."

He saw the pricetag of this, and it would be on par for what he'd charge, so he nods. "I understand."

"Excellent," she purrs, tracing her claws down his frame, completely inappropriate in her touches. He knocks her servos away.

"Do you like it, Sentinel?" he turns in place, letting the mech get a good look at him, and Sentinel nods.

"It's very nice." He holds out his own blue cloak and hat. "Here. I suppose you should modify them now?"

The tailor tisks at him and picks up the golden lace that Optimus had chosen, quickly attaching it with a few easy stitches here and there. "This is not a permanent solution, do you understand? I believe your friend intends to do more permanent work on your cloak."

Sentinel nods, "That is the plan, yes."

The cloak and hat are given back, while the chest wrap is adjusted around Sentinel, "There. You're all dressed up. Who's paying?"

Both Sentinel and Elita-1 pay, while Optimus puts his finger to his temple and coms his betrothed, "Oil Slick? Are you there?"

"Optimus! Optimus! Did you get what I sent you? I got the doll you sent me! It is adorable! It goes with the little one you did of me last decacycle. I have the both of us together in my subspace cuddling!"

He smiles, spark happy that Oil Slick enjoyed the gift, "I'm glad. I was worried you wouldn't like it, love. I even put us in our festival outfits."

"They're beautiful, Optimus," Oil Slick says in the filthiest tones possible, "I'm going to pay you for them tonight, if you have the time. I'll do that thing you love, with my dente on your headfins and my claws on your spark."

Optimus flushes a bit, glad that the others cannot hear Oil Slick's side of the conversation. "I called for a reason, Oil Slick. We were wondering if you-"

"_We_?" Oil Slick asks, his voice dropping low and dangerous once more. "Who is this _we_, Optimus?"

"Elita-1 and Sentinel. They took me to the tailor. I was hoping you would come out for some whipped energon with us, so you can look at my pretty new cloak and boots." He wiggles his fingers, "And gloves. They want to meet you."

Oil Slick makes an interested sound, no longer upset, "Boots and gloves? Why hadn't we ever tried putting you in them before? Where are you, so I can see you?"

He relays where they're going to Oil Slick, and says softly, "That's the energon shop that Sentinel's creator's own. They make whipped energon." He pauses, knowing that he needs to say this now, "The energon you made me didn't make it through the mail, Oil Slick. It just .. collapsed. Turned to liquid."

Oil Slick sighs softly, "I should have expected that. I'll make you a new batch, and you can put it in your subspace, love. I'll be there soon."

"I will see you there, sweetspark," Optimus replies, and then the call disconnects from Oil Slick's end. Optimus sighs with relief, glad that Oil Slick had not gone off in a rage this time about him being out with bots that Oil Slick did not personally know.

Elita-1 is staring at him curiously, "So, he'll be meeting us there? We'd better hurry. I want time to make sure my paint and polish are nice before he shows up. I don't want to fail to impress your betrothed, Optimus." She pinches his aft playfully, and Optimus slaps her servo again.

"Don't do that."

She smiles at him, "Why not?"

Because he can't imagine how badly Oil Slick would react to her doing that to him, but it couldn't be pretty. "Because I don't want you to, and because I'm betrothed to another bot."

She reaches for him again, and he slaps her servo sharply. Sentinel sighs, "Elita, please? You wanted to get going. His betrothed _is_ a ninjabot. It is very likely that he's halfway there, and going to be wondering where we are."

The femme sighs, "Very well. If you insist, my sweet little Sentinel." She drags him forward and kisses him aggressively, and Sentinel moans loudly, optics offlining as she claims his mouth.

Optimus averts his optics and heads for the door, "I am ready to leave whenever you two are," he says, hoping they will stop their obscene display.

There are wet noises behind him for a few moments longer, and then they stop. Sentinel is panting desperately, and Elita-1 looks terribly smug. "We're ready to go now, Optimus. I was just reminding Sentinel of a favor he owes me tonight."

He waves a servo, "Whatever." He hopes that when he kisses Oil Slick, he doesn't sound or act like that.

They make their way to the shop, and step in easily, Sentinel leading them to a table. "You sit here, I'll go get you the energon."

They nod, and Elita-1 starts to work on her polish, only to jump when Oil Slick drops from the ceiling and into Optimus's lap, "You don't polish yourself in public. Optimus, you need to teach your friends how to be appr-"

He pins Oil Slick to the side of the booth, rubbing his lover's sides, "So _she_ gets a greeting, but I'm just told what to do? This doesn't seem very fair to me."

Oil Slick's engine revs slightly, and the mech struggles against his hold, testing Optimus's strength. He tightens his grip in response, hearing Oil Slick's armor creak. The mech shudders, and goes limp against him, practically purring his pleasure and happiness. "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry, Optimus. How could I have forgotten my manners." He smiles at Elita-1, "I am Oil Slick, Optimus's betrothed. You should not polish in public. It shows a lack of foresight and bad grooming habits."

He rubs Oil slick's side, "Be polite, love."

Oil Slick leans against him, optics offline and head on his chest, "I _am_ being polite."

He shakes his head, then smiles when he sees what Oil Slick is wearing, "You got your favorite outfit back! Did you earn it, or-"

Oil Slick nuzzles him, "I got it back by being sneaky. We were told that if we managed to get past the bots that were guarding our clothing, we'd get it back. I got it back. It is mine, and I'm not going to give it up, even if I like not wearing it in the garden. I am more than willing to go without when I'm meditating in that batch of sun in the purple cora. I think I've figured out how to sneak you in, too."

Optimus flushes, "That's hardly appropriate, Oil Slick. I don't think-"

"Optimus," Oil Slick quiets him with a claw over his mouth, "I am in a ninjabot school. We are encouraged to find subtle ways to break the rules and get around our senseis' dictates. We are rewarded for it. I want you to see the garden, and when I am certain I have found a way to get you in, you will come with me without protest."

He smiles, "If that's what you really want. I can do that, but I don't see a reason when we're perfectly able to-"

Oil Slick kisses him, "We'll do it because I said we're going to do it. You aren't going to get out of it. I know you, Optimus. I wish you'd let me break into the bootcamp and steal your clothing and everything back for you."

He shakes his head, deeply amused, "They'd know it was done for me, and we'd get in trouble. Better not to do it. Don't bother, love."

His beloved changes tack, "I could steal all of the clothes for the bots who have them stored there, and return them to all the mechs. They could not claim it was done for you, then. You'd have your clothes back, and I could fra-mmph," Oil Slick frowns around the fingers shoved in his mouth.

"That talk is not appropriate for public, Oil Slick," Optimus reminds him, lowering his voice, "do I have to remind you what happens to naughty, filthy-mouthed bots later tonight?"

Oil Slick revs loudly, his answer a wordless, but obvious, _yes_.

Sentinel chooses that time to return, putting down a cube of whipped energon in front of each of them, "Here you go. I'm sure you'll love it."

Oil Slick suddenly goes on the defensive, pulling the cube away from Optimus, "You aren't eating this in front of all these bots."

He sighs softly, "Why not?" He's pretty sure he knows the answer, but he feels like he should ask anyway.

Oil Slick glares at Elita-1, and several other bots that are looking at them, "Too many bots that keep _looking_ at you. I don't like it."

"We've never been here before and we're wearing clothes. They're going to stare. They aren't staring at _me_," he says, resting a servo over Oil Slick's. "They're staring at us." He smiles, changing his tactics, "I bet some of them are jealous of us. They'd be even more jealous if they knew we were betrothed." Optimus nuzzles him, "Knew that I was going to bond with such a wonderful mech."

Oil Slick makes little angry growling sounds, "No. We won't be fueling on whipped energon in public. My note to you said that we were going to be fueling on that cube in private together. And there was a reason for that. No one is allowed to hear the sounds you make when you're-"

Sentinel coughs, choking a bit on the whipped energon he's fueling on, "Wait, wait.. _You're_ that sparkling that my cousin accidentally gave five free cubes of whipped energon to instead of just the one he meant to?"

Optimus flushes, "I don't understand what you're insinuating, Oil Slick. I know I may not . . . sound the most appropriate when I fuel, but it is nowhere near as obscene as you make it sound-"

"My cousin said he felt slagging awful because he wanted to _frag_ a sparkling barely past puberty because he sounded like he was overloading when he tasted the whipped energon." Sentinel wipes energon from his mouth. "I didn't realize that was _you_."

Oil Slick growls wordlessly, low in his vocal processor, and Optimus rubs his optics. "Primus, I'm sure it isn't _that_ ba-"

Oil Slick glares at him, "We got kicked out of the Allspark temple because you were too loud and they thought we were _fragging_."

He blushes, high on his cheeks, "Well, _you_ stole our bonding wraps and used them as our festival gear, making it so it would be impossible for us to 'face unless we ripped it off each other, so that wouldn't have happened anyway."

Elita-1 leans forward, elbows on the table, optics alight with mischief, "I would _love_ to see this. It sounds fragging awesome. Care to put on a show for us, Oil Slick? You're a ninjabot now, right? Your kind loves showing off. Show us how revved you can get Optimus feeding him a treat."

Oil Slick hisses at her and slashes her across the face with his claws, which are thankfully gloved, making it more of a strange slap than anything else. Optimus gets up, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and upset, and he drags Oil Slick out of the booth, leaving the energon behind, "Primus, I'm sorry, Elita. I'll make it up to you later. Come on, Oil Slick, we should go."

He holds his betrothed carefully, heading straight for the hotel that they've both settled into because it has the best rates, and going straight to the room.

* * *

"You were . . angry with me?" he asks softly, rubbing Oil Slick's back carefully.

"Jealous," Oil Slick admits, tipping his face up for a kiss. "You shouldn't be around that femme. She's terrible. The mech seems alright. At least he's not interested in fragging you, unlike the femme." Oil Slick whispers in his audio, "I cannot stand the thought of a femme poaching you from me, Optimus. You are _mine_."

He kisses Oil Slick softly, "I'm not going to 'face Elita, Oil Slick. I'm just not interested in her. I have you, and we're going to be bonded." He smiles, "We just need go get through bootcamp and ninjabot school. Well, I need to also do Academy, but that won't be that bad. You can be an Elite Guard, too." He nuzzles his lover, "They always try to put a ninjabot with a Prime, and you can be my ninjabot." He lowers his voice, as if telling a secret, "They will only have to issue us one berth. Since we'll be bonded then, and they can't get rid of us according Haydon law."

Oil Slick dims his optics, "I'm not sure I want to be an Elite Guard. I'm not sure that I want to let you be one either." He drags his claws lightly down Optimus's frame, and Optimus shivers at the way it tickles him. "I'd rather we both return to Haydon IV and live off my family's fortune." He dims his optics, "Only do the things we want to do, rather than the things we _have_ to do in order to survive. I could take more science lessons, and you could stay home," he lowers his voice, tempting Optimus like a horrible demonbot from a sparklinghood tale, "carrying our sparklings, raising them to be good little bots."

He shakes his head, blushing, "You've said you don't _want_ sparklings, Oil Slick. I couldn't ask you to-"

Oil Slick kisses him, "This isn't you asking me, Optimus. This is me saying I want sparklings with you if it means that we just... go home. We leave and return to Haydon IV to get bonded. We have our sparklings and never return here. I build a tiny meditation garden that I heat up in our brand new home, and we raise a sparkling." Oil Slick dims his optics, rubbing Optimus's spark, "Maybe two? If you let me take your spark a few times while you're recovering from the first one, we're almost assured of it. Especially with your model type."

"I . . I'll think about it," Optimus promises. His dream is to become a Prime. But his other dream is to have a large, wonderful family. He knows that if he holds out, he'll be able to have both. He'll have Oil Slick and sparklings, and a Prime rank. If he just holds out against Oil Slick's temptations. "I'd rather think about _you_ right now." He pushes Oil Slick down and pins his servos over his head. "Maybe think about the pair of stasis cuffs they're training me to use in bootcamp."

Oil Slick revs loudly, "I think that's something we should think about, too."

* * *

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Porn cut from this chapter. Check out the livejournal or tumblr.**  
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	7. Chapter 7

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

Optimus squirms unhappily, the knots on the two chest wraps they used to replace the one that Oil Slick cut aren't very comfortable to rest his arms on, but they look even worse if he has them on his chest and back. He pets Oil slick, who is cuddling up against him, engine purring happily, as they wait their turn for the medic to replace his cut locks. He sighs softly, "I wish you hadn't been so ... enthusiastic."

Oil Slick kisses him, "But I love you too much to slow down."

"I would have unlocked just a nanoklik later if you'd let me," Optimus complains, because they had to trek all the way across the city to find a clinic that didn't report 'facing incidents with bots they suspected to be in the bootcamps. If it got back to his instructors that he'd had to have his locks replaced, that would be proof enough to dissolve their betrothal, and Optimus didn't want that at all. So they'd gone across the city, to this tiny clinic.

"Next please," the bored clinic nursebot says, holding his datapad, waiting for the bots to come forward. When they're in front of him, the bot arches an optic ridge, "I see you've decided to pay full price with an anonymous account. For your visit, you'll be using the designations Cog and Wheel. I'll let you fight over which you prefer on your own time. Go wait in clinic room three. The medicbot will be with you shortly."

They go to the room, and Optimus rubs his optics, "I can't believe you know where the red light district is, Oil Slick." The medical clinic by the brothels is the only place that won't report broken locks to authorities It means they had to fill out all sorts of forms, but they aren't going to get any bots from Haydon IV looking in on them and asking questions that will mean they won't get bonded.

He's given a kiss, "I'm a _ninjabot_. I'm expected to know these things for some reason. Sensei Yoketron is constantly disappointed in me when I tell him I don't _care_ about these things and just want to bond with you, though."

Optimus kisses him back, glossa flicking out playfully over his lips. "You'll just have to ignore him. Most ninjabots don't understand the concept of bonding with a bot you love. They like to slut it around and have as many lovers as possible, and never stay true to the bot that their spark desires above all else." He links his servo with Oil Slick's. "Even when that bot does silly things like break my locks because he's too impatient to wait for me to open up on my own."

His ninjabot nuzzles him. "You are a temptation too great to resist, Optimus."

There's a knock at the door, and a bot comes in "Cog, Wheel?" The bot doesn't look up from the datapad, "What's this about broken locks?"

Oil Slick nods, "Wheel's locks are cut clean through. I got too... excited. We need them fixed."

The medic rolls his optics, "Well, take off the chest wrap, and let me see."

Optimus flushes, stripping off the wrap to bare his sparkplates, which are dented and scratched, despite the quick polish and smoothing he tried to give them. "Cog is impatient. I-"

"You ended up getting me back with those fraggin' stasis cuffs," Oil Slick hums, satisfied with the way Optimus blushes even darker at his words as the medic starts prodding at his chest. "And it _was_ pretty hot slicing through your locks."

The medic snorts, "In the future, I recommend you invest in magnetic locks. They'll keep your plates shut like regular locks, let you have the thrill of slicing locks open, but they have the convenient side-effect of keeping you from having to visit a medical bay."

Oil Slick gives his plates a thoughtful look, "That would be nice. It would be even better if you had claws, and cut me open, though. Maybe if we-"

He puts a finger to Oil Slick's mouth, "We can discuss this when we _aren't_ in a medical bay, Cog. How does that sound? I am all for this, but we can discuss it when we aren't doing this."

Oil Slick rubs his helmet, "Very well, but only because we need to get you back soon. They'll notice how long you've been gone if we don't have you return in a bit."

"Yeah." He lays back and lets the medic replace his sparkplate locks, wincing as the medicbot works without sedating or numbing him in any way. It's a simple repair, but it still stings. "Where do we buy magnetic locks?"

Oil Slick chuckles, "Don't worry, Wheel. I know plenty of places that would sell them. And if they won't, I'm sure I can procure some in some other way." He wiggles his servos, "I've got very crafty servos. I could always try making some-"

"I wouldn't recommend that," the medic snorts again. "Homemade spark and interfacing toys never turn out well. They're a good half of the medical injuries I end up treating here."

Oil Slick frowns, "Even magnetic locks? It seems simple enough."

The bot pulls away, shoving his plates closed, "Yeah, _seems_. It always _seems_ simple. I'd advise against building the things. Just buy the fragging things. They're cheap, you can get them in packs of ten. Just get them that way."

Oil Slick smiles, "We'll do that, then. Thank you."

The bot snorts, "Don't thank me, just get the frag out of my medical bay. You paid in advance, and I'm not here to sweet talk you. Out."

Optimus tests his new locks, and they click firmly into place. He smiles, "Thank you." He wraps his arms around Oil Slick. "We appreciate the help." The medic just mutters and shoos them out. Optimus links servos with Oil Slick and they exit the red light district, Thankfully without being mistaken for whorebots. He still feels naked, because he has no chest wrap, the two tied together ones not worth the effort to put back on.

Besides, he needs to get used to going without clothing of any kind, even if he finds it awkward and uncomfortable. "We can test the magnetic locks the next time we get leave, if you have them by then, Oil Slick."

The ninjabot hums thoughtfully, and then slides a servo under Optimus's cloak to grope his aft, "I like the idea of that, Optimus."

When they get him back to bootcamp, he carefully presses the clothing into Oil Slick's subspace, putting it all into the proper place, and he kisses his lover. "I'll talk to Elita-1 about not doing that again. Don't worry." He manages to shoo Oil Slick away with as minimal of a fuss as possible, and goes in with just a megacycle before lights out. Enough time have a conversation before settling in to recharge.

He finds Elita-1 in the common room filling out a datapad with conviction, and he _knows_ that's an assault form against his lover. He rushes over to her, and she looks up at him, expression stormy, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send this in the morning."

"Oil Slick's creators are femmes, and he doesn't know how to act like a proper mech."

Elita-1 pauses for a moment, before filling out more of the form, "Not a good enough reason. If he hadn't been wearing those gloves, I would be having an optic replacement procedure right now. Your betrothed is a jealous fragging maniac."

"He acts like a femme," Optimus argues, not wanting his love to end up in prison or in anger management classes, where he would likely end up assaulting the teacher and his fellow classmates. "He gets very possessive when he sees another femme trying to move in on me. How would you feel if another femme went after Sentinel, right while you were sitting next to him?"

Elita-1 mutters, optics narrow, "I'd claw her optics out."

He sits very carefully on the floor next to her, "And that's why he acted like he did. He wasn't raised to be a mech, Elita. He was raised to be a _femme_. By his femme creators. They wanted him to be treated like how he was treated, and didn't care how badly others would react. They're femmes, and got their way."

She narrows her optics at him, "It still doesn't excuse his behavior, he should be able to control himself. He _is_ a mech, and shouldn't be attacking femmes. We're-"

He gently takes the datapad from her claws, "If he was a femme, you wouldn't be doing this at all. You'd have thought you deserved it, or wouldn't have provoked him at all. To make up for it, I'll do extra lace on your cloak, hat, and even do your chest wrap, even if that's terribly indecent."

Elita-1 hums, considering his offer, and finally nods, "Very well. I'll accept that offer, but you'd better make Sentinel's outfit match mine. I want us to look good together when we go out. I still think clothes are stupid, but he's been whining at me to go out with him all dressed up for some time now."

Optimus winces, thinking of the effort it was going to take to decorate Sentinel's cloak to match Elita's, and then forces a smile. "I can do that. Will you also promise to stop hitting on me?"

She gives him a sullen look, "Fine, but only because you'll be decorating the both of our outfits for whatever it is that Sentinel wants us to be doing."

He nods, "I'm going to have to talk to Sentinel about his cloak. He... he looks like a whorebot with that shade of cloak. He can't wear that."

She raises an optic ridge, "Really? So _that_ is why the tailor didn't want me wearing things that matched my paint when he heard you were from Haydon IV? That would explain things. I'll talk to him about that, then."

"Wearing clothes the same shade as your armor is trying to provide the illusion that you are unclothed. It is obscene." Optimus won't go places with bots who recognize that with Sentinel dressed that way. "We'll pick out a cloak in a different shade for him. It is acceptable to wear accent items in your color, like a hat or gloves, but not your cloak. And certainly not your chest wrap, if you have to wear one." He can't really imagine not wearing one, even after all of his time at bootcamp. He still feels so naked. Even right now.

Elita-1 nods, "I'll talk to him about it. We'll get him a new cloak that you find more acceptable, and you can work on mine first." She pauses, leaning on the arm of the chair, "How do you get the supplies for working on the lace and things, anyway? I mean, no one _else_ can do that. It's contraband."

He looks down, a small blush on his cheeks, "Well, I told Oil Slick I missed having _something_ to do, and he got me them. He somehow manages to get them out of my subspace before the random searches, too. I'm just glad that the dolls aren't contraband. They've scanned those several times, trying to see if I hide the needles and things in them, but I never do."

"You're going to end up on oil cleaning duty if you keep frustrating them," Elita-1 warns him, and Optimus shrugs. There's nothing he can do if his instructors decide they want to punish him for having made the dolls. For making small bits of servo-spun lace. He doesn't like oil cleaning duty more than anyone else, but it's not the trial that most bots make it out to be. Even when the cleaning drones keep hovering nearby, beeping with dread, worried that you aren't performing a good enough cleaning job.

He stands up, "I need to go get ready for recharge. I'll work on the lace for your outfit, and you can tell me what it is Sentinel wants to have all this decoration for."

She nods, waving him off. "He wants to have it as a surprise, but I imagine that it will need to be said, since it has a time limit."

He shrugs, and leaves. He puts his servo to his temple, knowing that if he _doesn't_ com Oil Slick, his betrothed will not do well, and murmurs softly as he preps his berth for recharge. "Love? Are you there?"

"Optimus! You're okay! What's going on?"

"Nothing, Oil Slick. I'm getting ready for recharge, and I just convinced Elita-1 to not press charges against you. I'm going to make sure her outfit matches Sentinel's. She promised not to go after me any more, because I told her you're like a jealous femme."

Silence, and then an amused answer, "A jealous femme, Optimus? Are you having filthy fantasies about me being a femme for you?" Optimus feels himself blush a bit, and Oil Slick continues, "I'd be more than happy to put on some magnetic hip skirt panels and a chest-piece to make my chassis look larger." His beloved chuckles, "Maybe even use some of the face paint that my mamas liked."

He smiles, "Would you be using a vocal scrambler to change the pitch of your voice?" Since one thing that Oil Slick's voice was not, was feminine.

His beloved hums, and Optimus climbs into the berth, "I don't know. It would be pretty hilarious to see everyone's reaction to me talking when they expect me to be a femme. Maybe I could do one that I turn on and off at my discretion?"

He tugs his heating blanket up, wishing that Oil Slick was with him so he could have his love to cuddle, "Maybe. It may be for the best. Show everyone that I'm not hurting you when I hold you too tight."

"Ha," Oil Slick barks out a laugh, "hurting me? You're always too gentle with me, Optimus. Even when you're rough, you don't dent me properly. Your servos are too small to dent me the right way." His tone gentles, "But I do love that you try your best for me. I should thank you the next time I see you. Maybe slip my claws inside your sparkchamber and just rub your cables until you overload from that alone."

His engine revs softly, "I look forward to it." He yawns, "I need to recharge, love. I'm going to be talking to Sentinel about his cloak and several other things like we discussed."

Oil Slick makes a kissing sound, "Love you."

He smiles, "Love you, too." The com disconnects, and he drops into recharge.

* * *

"You're doing an excellent job," Optimus praises his beloved, leaning over to kiss his cheek briefly before turning his attention back to Sentinel's new, light blue cloak. It no longer matches his armor, and he looks less like a prostibot now. Optimus gently works on attaching the lace he's spun, Oil Slick further down, pinning it in place for him to sew on.

Ninjabot classes have given Oil Slick much more dexterity with his ungloved claws, and the mech isn't severing his lace anymore just by touching it.

Oil Slick stops looking irritated long enough to glow under the praise, "I am, aren't I? I can actually work with the lace with you without being worried about ruining it. It took a lot of practice, but I managed it."

He smiles, "You did." he continues to slowly sew the lace on, "But I can't believe they want me to have this done in time for the festival here. Can you? This is insane. If you weren't here to help me, I'd tell them this was absolutely impossible unless they bought me a new loom to replace the one in storage, and then they'd want something even _more_ complicated."

"I'm surprised you managed to weave so much lace in such a short time," Oil Slick hums, reaching over to pinch Optimus's aft playfully. "And a bit jealous. You should weave me a nice, lacy shawl to drape over my shoulders. Something airy and light. I want all the ninjabots to be jealous of my gorgeous, amazing lover and his lace-making skills."

Optimus flushes, "I'm not that good. Papa Steelbolt is better, and the lace I make is only passable because most bots don't get close enough to see my errors and simple patterns."

Oil Slick pins on more of the lace, "At least this is the last piece. We still need to set up _our_ clothing for tonight as well."

He makes a face, "At least we have that all finished already. It won't take us very long to be clean and get wrapped up. And _this time_ we can help each other."

Oil Slick kisses him, "I admit, you'll still be given gropes, since I can't help but touch you, but you won't have me pawing at you like you would have that first time if you had let me."

"You would have tried to 'face me if I'd let you in my room that night." Optimus sews the lace in place with quick, small stitches, invisible in the lacework, keeping the lace secure without choking it in place. Lace needs room to flex and breathe, and Optimus is a professional at this, having attached lace to many things over the vorns. Papa Steelbolt and Papa Powerdrive made excellent lace, but their sewing was less than perfect. Optimus was usually the one who sewed the lace on the finished product, if a client had paid for them to do so.

Oil slick just kisses him again, "Of course I would have, but that's neither here, nor there."

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

He straightens out the wrap on Oil Slick's frame, "I'm not sure how well this looks on you. You shouldn't have put the hip panels on. It hangs all wrong on you with those."

"It looks fine," Oil Slick's voice is pitched high and entirely wrong and he's crossdressing as a femme for this, "I saw one bot wearing a chest wrap on his legs. A little bit off is nothing. We look perfect. We'll be the fanciest bots there. I made bows for the hip panels, and they're covered in crystals that match, so it won't matter, right?"

Optimus has to admit that Oil Slick makes for an absolutely gorgeous femme. His long, sleek hip panels have crystals cascading down the length of the gauzy, lacy fabric wrapped around them, and Optimus wants nothing more than to drop to his knees and kiss those pretty panels. They're terribly distracting. If they were on Haydon, the modesty guards would make Oil Slick wear a loose cape over his festival wrap.

Optimus takes a video capture of Oil Slick spinning in place, making the crystal chains flare out dramatically around him. He knows that Wildstar and Glitterfrost will love to see this. His papas will, too; just not nearly as much as Oil Slick's creators.

He presses a kiss to Oil Slick's servos, "You look lovely. We should go and make sure that Elita-1 and Sentinel are correctly dressed, though. If they aren't we need to fix it. I'm not going to let them embarrass us by wearing it wrong."

Oil Slick shudders, "I know, I just can't allow them to ..." He shakes his head, then pulls out a new pair of gloves and boots, "I got you a present first. Something to match your wrap. I know it isn't the weaver cloth, but... well.. I made it, and covered it in the crystals. It isn't like the bots here will know. We can get better things later."

Optimus can't help but make an embarrassingly excited squeal, wrapping his arms around Oil Slick, "Oh, Primus, they're perfect!" He holds out his servos, "Put them on me." Optimus dims his optics as his beloved fits the gloves over his servos, and then kneels down to do his boots. They're an interesting design-they're not really full boots, so much as they are shaped covers that lay over the top of his peds and extend a bit upwards, leaving the soles of his peds uncovered. A good design, considering that Cybertron's streets are not designed with delicate metal cloth in mind.

Oil Slick takes his servo, smiling, "Let's go, then. We need to go to see Sentinel and Elita, then head to the festival."

He nods, pressing a kiss to Oil Slick's head, "Let's go. "I'm sure we can do this _fairly_ quickly." If not, any damage that was done to the clothing wasn't his fault, and he has already established that. They can just leave without them. Oil Slick and Optimus have no problem just leaving the other two behind if Elita or Sentinel ripped the clothing apart for some reason. If Elita rips _their_ clothing out of jealousy, they will be pressing charges.

They enter the room that Sentinel and Elita are waiting in, Elita fully dressed, Sentinel dressed in everything save for his cloak, which Optimus is carrying. Both bots gasp, optics going wide. "Oh, Primus," Elita-1 whispers, her optics sliding over the both of them, "you . . you look amazing." She comes closer and circles around Oil Slick, "And you look like you were onlined as a femme."

Oil Slick dims his optics, his vocal processor high and light, "Thank you. It will be entertaining to see how many bots think the same this night."

Optimus presses a kiss to Oil Slick's servo, "We need to do a final fitting on Sentinel, and then we're done. It should be fine, but we need to make sure."

Sentinel turns around, and kneels a bit, "Of course. I want it to look wonderful."

He drapes it across the bot's shoulders, adjusting it so it looks perfect. He lets his optics roam across it, picking out any obvious flaws, and then then shrugs. "Looks fine to me." There are things he'd _never_ get away with on Haydon IV, but here it is just fine.

Oil Slick can spot the problems, too. but he clearly doesn't care, either. "You look like you'll work. If you come visit us on Haydon IV, we'll do more work on you. _Maybe_."

Instead of looking insulted, Sentinel looks grateful, "Thank you. I know it must be a lot of work, keeping me looking functional. I know clothing bots are much pickier about appearance than most."

The only bots worse were seekers who chose to wear clothes. There had been a few on Haydon, and they were the pickiest creatures alive. Nothing but the _best_ would suit them. Ever. Most weavers refused to work for them. It was understandable. No bot liked being ordered to redo their cloth or lace a dozen times.

They all head out, Optimus wrapping his arm possessively around Oil Slick's waist in a way no actual femme would allow, and murmurs softly, "I love you."

Oil Slick gives him a happy look, "I love you, too." He's nuzzled softly, "I'm glad that they aren't even _trying_ to shoo me off the base this time. They realize it is pretty pointless to even try when a festival is going on."

The base is overrun with bots that don't actually belong there, filled with lovers or family of recruits, and Optimus is glad that he can get away with this sort of thing. The base is flowing with contraband, and there is going to be a crackdown when it is over, but he'll be perfectly safe before it happens, since Oil Slick _always_ keeps him safe from this sort of thing.

"I'm going to fill you up with high grade tonight," Oil Slick hums, leaning against his side. "High grade and maybe a dose of that lovebug I saw being passed around earlier. I bet you'll get really wild in the berth if I give you that."

Sentinel coughs next to him, apparently overhearing them, "You're betrothed. You aren't supposed to be _fragging_ if you're betrothed. I thought you were from _Haydon IV_. They're really strict about those things, aren't they? I hear they have even more rules than we do about courtships."

Optimus flushes, squeezing Oil Slick's waist, "Well, yes and no. You aren't supposed to, but everyone does."

Elita-1 raises an optic ridge, "Everyone does? What about bots raised to be good bots and would never do such a th-"

Oil Slick gives her a dirty look, "Elita, do _you_ frag Sentinel?"

She smirks, "Well, of course I do. He's my mech. I can do what I like. It isn't like I can't do what I want to him."

Oil Slick nuzzles Optimus, "And we are each other's mechs. We have the bonding wraps to prove it, as well. We just need to settle everything into the contracts and have the house set up before we get everything all nice and finished, that's all. We are, _of course_, virgins. To be anything else would be in violation of our contract. The fact that we spend so much time together in a hotel with our doors locked means nothing. You could ask that bot at the temple what we did as sparklings, we could, very easily, have just been feeding each other whipped energon all the time."

"Except any medic scanning your spark would know that you've fragged," Elita-1 says, optic ridge arched prettily. "Aren't you inspected before you go to your bonding ceremony?"

Optimus tips his helm to one side, blinking innocently, "Oh, of course we are, and the medicbots will always comment on what healthy, _innocent_ sparks we have." Everyone was in on keeping up the illusion of innocent sparklings-turned-adults getting bonded, but Optimus knew by now that they were all relieved that they weren't _really_ turning two complete, naive innocents on each other that night. It was good to have experience with your intended.

Sentinel looks a bit like his worldview has been shattered. "Wh-what? I had thought-"

Oil Slick rolls his optics, "We aren't _stupid_. You want to make sure the bot you're with doesn't hurt you. Or, if they _do_ hurt you, it is something that you want to happen in the berth." Oil Slick rubs against Optimus, optics dim, "I do wish you'd be just a little bit rougher with me, but you just aren't big enough. You took after your Papa Powerdrive's size like that."

He nuzzles his lover's neck, biting the cabling more than a little savagely, "While taking after Papa Steelbolt's model type" He nuzzles Oil Slick's neck, then sucks on the dents, "I love you."

"Oh, Primus," Oil Slick groans, optics dimming, "I love you too, my spark."

Optimus feels his own spark pulse with joy at the rarely used nickname, and Elita-1 and Sentinel gasp.

"Don't let anyone hear you call him that!" Sentinel orders. "You'll end up with your sparks examined, and I can guarantee that the medicbots here will _not_ stay silent about the fact that you're not virgins."

What a spoilsport.

Oil Slick makes a face, "It isn't like my senseis aren't trying to make me get rid of him as it is. But I'm going to stay with him no matter _what_ they try."

Optimus's spark freezes in his chest. "Wh-what do you mean? They've been trying to make you get rid of me?" This is the first time he's heard of this.

Oil Slick nuzzles him, "Nothing you need to worry about, love. They just keep telling me that a ninjabot doesn't _need_ a bond, and keep trying to take away my bonding wrap. I've managed to do several things that earned me top ranking on my classes because I beat the senseis on pure motivation from them trying. Don't worry!"

But he can't help but worry, and Optimus frets, clutching at Oil Slick's frame. "They want to separate us? They _can't_. We are going to bond, and," he stands tall, "if they try it again, tell me, and I will come and file a report on them for attempting to break a bond. If they try to take your bonding wrap again, we can have them charged with attempted theft as well."

Oil Slick chuckles, kissing his cheek, "I told you to not worry about it, sweetspark. I've got it under control. No bots are gonna stop me from loving you for the rest of time."

He smiles, "Good." He kisses Oil Slick softly, "We're at the festival. Let's head in."

It is both significantly more impressive and disappointing than the one at Haydon IV. The size and scope is much more wide and varied than the one on their home planet by a large margin, but the clothing is much less impressive. The bots mostly go naked, and Optimus is not nearly impressed with how much of anyone looks at all. On Haydon, they would have looked very good, near the top, certainly, but they wouldn't have stood out.

Here, they are easily the best dressed bots, and blow everyone else's clothing away. Even with their mismatched accessories that they added at the last moment to compliment their new found love of gloves or crossdressing.

They look terrible by Haydon standards with those accessories, things they would strip off if any bot they _knew_ from Haydon showed their face, but in this crowd, they look gorgeous.

Optimus lets his crystal chains tangle with Oil Slick's as they walk, a sign of affection and closeness that most bots here won't understand at all. Their servos link, and Optimus walks over to a booth selling energon sweets speared onto rust sticks. "Four, please," he asks, and tries to bring out his credit pad, only to have Oil Slick swipe his own over the scanner.

He takes the sticks and gives one to each of them, frowning as Oil Slick kisses him. His mech smiles, "Let me treat you, love. For every single sol for the past few vorns, I get to hear from my senseis about how you don't _need_ me. Let me prove to them how much you need and want me."

His spark hurts at that. A bot that is teaching shouldn't be trying to shove betrotheds apart in such painful ways. "They shouldn't be doing this, Oil Slick. Why haven't you told me? You should should have told me the very instant it started."

"They're aftheads, Optimus. Nothing I say or do will change that. They're all about being open-minded and free, but they're stubborn sticks in the mud when it comes to relationships. I love you, and I want to bond with you, and they dislike that." Oil Slick kisses his cheek. "With any luck, I'll graduate in a few vorns and be done with them." His claws tease Optimus's wrap, "And then you and I can move in together."

He smiles, "I know that I'd like that." His spark warms at the thought of it. He'll be with Oil Slick forever, and they'll have sparklings to take care of. He breaks a tiny piece of the candy off, and places it in his lover's mouth, "How is it?"

Oil Slick makes a tiny purry sound, "Not as good as when your fingers are bare, but very delicious anyway."

He smiles, knowing that Oil Slick likes him more when he's covered up even more, since it keeps him away from prying optics. "We can feed each other more later, my love."

"Yes," Oil Slick strokes his frame with teasing servos. "I think we should challenge Elita-1 and Sentinel to a few of the games at the booths here. Are you bots up for a challenge?" Oil Slick smirks at them, puffing his chest out, "You can accept your defeat right now if you like. I'm more than willing to-"

"Oh, it's on, you spindly excuse for a cyclemech," Elita-1 purrs right back at him, dragging Sentinel against her. "You're going to eat your words, and then, I think the losers are going to take the winners to the best cafe in the city and treat them to high grade."

Oil Slick smiles, "If that's what you want, then we can do that. I'm not going to complain about you buying us high grade. I just wonder how you're even going to get _into_ the World's End. It is very high class and you need a reservation severa-"

Sentinel coughs, looking away, "We, uh, we already had that... a very long time ago. It was already something that was planned. Two _different_ friends were going to be coming, but that never actually worked out, and you just... fell into place."

Optimus smiles, "We'd be honored to come."

Elita-1 huffs, "You won't be once you have to pay for everything."

"You're a very foolish femme, and I hope a very _rich_ one," Oil Slick hums, tugging Optimus to a booth. "I believe I will order some of the best energon they have when we win." He pushes Optimus in front of a laser pistol. "Now, be a good bot and shoot some turbofoxes for me, sweetspark."

Optimus finds it deeply amusing how pushy Oil Slick gets when he's around other femmes. "Of course, sweetspark." He swipes his creditpad to pay for a round of the game, and then takes the pistol, waiting for the targets to appear. Little red and white turbofoxes pop up on the screen, speeding around various bits of scenery, and Optimus shoots them, missing the first-the gun's aim is terrible, off a ridiculous amount to the left-but manages to get all the rest, including the blue bonus foxes that occasionally dart up for a nanoklik on one edge of the screen.

Oil Slick takes it from him, and gets all of the targets perfectly, having watched him and realized that the aim was off. When they're finished the gun is set down, and they look at the owner, who gives them both stunned looks before reluctantly offering them prizes. Optimus has a choice from the second highest tier, and settles on a slightly tacky pair of gloves that he can modify so that they'll fit Oil Slick if he cuts them up a little bit to go around his treads. "We'll put these on you later," he murmurs.

Oil Slick smiles, "Yes, they'll be fine once you fix them up a bit." His beloved looks through the top prizes, finally pulling out a small sculpture of a weaver model type. The little silky spider type robot model carefully getting tied on Optimus's shoulder, "There. Now it is like almost every other festival we went to. With a weaver sitting on you and trying to demand your attention in the most frustrating way possible. At least this one won't try to demand that we don't kiss."

"They're fun to kiss," Optimus objects. They have sweet, adorable little mandibles that wiggle against your lips. And he swears he felt a tiny glossa one time, when Spindle was being unusually affectionate with him. The poor little mech couldn't hold his high-grade very well.

"They're irritating as frag," Oil Slick counters, watching Elita-1 and Sentinel put up admirable showings at the targeting booth, though neither makes it above the third prize tier.

Elita gives them irritable looks, "We're going to keep going. Just a single game means _nothing_. You both just got lucky. We need to do something else. Something other than this."

Oil Slick smirks, "Like? What do you think we should do next?"

She points at a different game booth, "That one. It's a memory game. We'll do _that_ instead."

Optimus wonders if Elita remembers that she always did terribly on memorization things, while Optimus did the best. And that Oil Slick is a _ninjabot_. Optimus nods, "If... if that's what you really want to do?"

"Oh, it is, little mech," she steps up to the booth and swipes her pad, challenging the booth bot, "Give me something challenging."

The mech arches an optic ridge and selects a stage for her. It's a fairly simple game at first. The screen shows a selection of numbers, objects, or shapes, and then removes several of them, offering a wide selection of objects at the bottom. The bot playing has to select the missing objects in the correct order. It's also a game of image recognition and finding, because the images and numbers are jumbled together at random on the lower screen.

Elita-1 has never done well at this game. Sentinel is a fair hand at it, but Optimus has always won in the past, and Oil Slick is trained for things like this.

When they finish, Optimus only gets a third tier prize, but still does better than Sentinel's fourth tier and Elita-1's lack of prize. He gives Oil Slick the little bottle of polish that they'll never use, and smiles when he's given another sculpture of a weaver. "Do you think that you're going to give me _all_ of the weaver statues they have?"

Oil Slick looks smug, "If I continue to break all the high scores? Yes. I will. I don't think they're planning on ever parting with the things, but I am the top ninjabot student for a reason, and I _will_ win. I have been beating out the senseis ever since I came here, and I will _keep_ beating them at things."

Optimus isn't sure he likes the sound of that, actually. "You shouldn't _have_ to beat them. What do they _do_?" He takes Oil Slick's servos, kissing them nervously, "It explains why you sometimes come to me covered in scratches and looking so upset, but I always thought that was sparring. What are they _doing_ to you?"

"It is sparring, mostly," Oil Slick lifts his servo and kisses his gloved fingers. "Ninjabots are dangerous, sweetspark. We train very hard, and we fight much dirtier than you do. At least, some of us do." He pats Optimus on the aft as they move to the next booth. "I think if we win here, you should just declare yourselves defeated," Oil Slick laughs, resting a servo on the counter. "Four nets, please."

Optimus kneels down and stares at the tank of thrashing, angry turbofish, and then at the tiny paper net he's holding. "I'm pretty sure you can't catch one of these with a net like this, Oil Slick."

Oil Slick smiles, "Of course you can, I'll get you a lot, don't worry."

Optimus frowns, "I can't keep a pet on the base. This would be even worse than you bringing me that turbofox."

Oil Slick gently pushes him to the tank, "Go ahead and try."

He looks down at the turbofish, "This isn't going to work."

Elita-1 and Sentinel glare at Oil Slick. Sentinel taking the net angrily, "These stupid fish are bred to be extra aggressive. I want a different booth after this, and this one _doesn't count_."

Oil Slick raises an optic ridge, "We've already beat you in two games. If we were doing two out of three, we would have already been declared the winners. What does this matter?"

"Ninjabots aren't allowed to _win_ at this game," Sentinel hisses quietly at him, so the boothbot won't hear. "I could get you disqualified from this."

Oil Slick arches an optic ridge, "Very well. This booth does not count." He kneels at a separate part of the tank. It's a strange set up. The tank has two parts. The inner area is largest, full of writhing fish splashing solvents at any bot passing by. The outer part is a smaller section full of solvent, split into different areas, so multiple bots can play at once. The caught turbofish is meant to be dumped into the sectioned off area, which has a gate that can be opened to allow the fish back into the main tank if you don't catch enough to earn yourself a fish as a pet.

They are actually interrupted by a bot walking up behind them, and one of the turbofish starting to splash, almost insanely, fins flashing brightly. The boothbot sighs softly, "Alpha Trion, will you _please_ not incite the turbo fish this sol? Just take the one that likes you so much and _go_?"

The councilmech behind them hums thoughtfully, optics dim and roaming over them, "No, no. I think not. I am in no mood for amorous ichthyoids this sol, not when I have a far _better_ option right in front of me." He goes straight to Oil Slick, voice turning seductive, "Hello, I've never seen you here before. I can tell that you're from Haydon IV with a wrap like that. How exactly did you get here and escape everyone's attention?"

Oil Slick arches an optic ridge, "I did not realize that you came down for the festival, Alpha Trion. I would have thought a mech of your age would need to . . . take a stasis nap."

The mech laughs, reaching forward to hover a servo right over Oil Slick's shoulder, stroking the air over his wrap, tickling his EM field without making actual contact, before pulling his servo back, "I like a femme with an attitude." He leans in close, "I am far from old enough to need stasis naps mid-sol, lovely."

Oil Slick thrusts his paper net at the mech, "Will you catch a turbofish for me?"

Alpha takes the net, "I don't catch fish, but I can show you a trick. Would you like to see something interesting?"

Oil Slick nods, "I wou-"

The booth owner shakes his head, "_No_. You will _leave_, Alpha Trion. You will take your lovesick fish with you. I'm not going to deal with moving all the fish back."

Alpha smiles, "I'll take the fish if I can show them this."

The booth owner narrows his optics, clearly distrustful, "You said this last time."

"Oh, but I really _mean_ it this ti-"

Optimus moves over to Oil Slick, whispering softly into his audio as Alpha tries to sweetalk the booth owner into letting him do whatever trick it is he wants to do, "He's very charming, isn't he, love?" He hopes that Alpha doesn't go _too_ far. Or, if he does, he realizes that Optimus is part and parcel with Oil Slick. If Alpha is only wanting Oil Slick because of the novelty of a very pretty femme, they're both going to crush that very fast.

"Fine," the boothbot announces. "I'll let you do your fragging awful trick, and then you take that poor glitch of a turbofish with you afterwards. I know you've got a fragging enormous pool of them at your home."

Alpha smiles mysteriously, and nods, "I do indeed. Thank you for your patience, Rally Point. Now, I believe I promised the lovely femme a show." He leans down over the solvents, and waits for a moment. Turbofish mill around under him, and then, without warning, he slaps the surface of the water with the paper net. One of the turbofish, startled by the sudden noise, leaps out of the water defensively, and lands straight inside the outer layer of tank. Alpha lifts his arm and slaps the surface again, and another turbofish leaps in panic, into a different sectioned off part of the outer tank.

Oil Slick kisses Optimus on the cheek just as Alpha turns around, and Oil Slick claps his servos. "Wonderful! I didn't know they did that!"

Alpha walks over to them frowning intently, then suddenly smiling, "You're _Oil Slick_, the top ninjabot that Yoketron is alternately raving about how wonderful you are, and raving about how you shouldn't be bonding to a bot." The mech turns to Optimus, taking his servo and kissing it, "And you'd be the betrothed, then. No wonder you continually ignore his demands to break it off. If I had a betrothed as lovely as him, I'd ignore Yoketron as well."

Optimus smiles, much more relaxed, "It is good to to meet you as well, sir."

The mech turns to Elita-1 and Sentinel, who look rather peeved to be ignored. He smiles at them, and takes their servos, kissing both at the same time, "And one of the best teams to come from the recruit class this vorn, I've heard. Elita-1 and Sentinel. Oh, how Kup complains about you two, but he has such high hopes. It is an honor to meet four lovely bots this sol." The mech absently slaps at the solvent behind him, and more fish leap into the outer tanks. Optimus wishes he knew how the bot did it.

Elita-1 and Sentinel look gratified at that, and Elita smiles, "We're going to be trying to do a few more games to see who is paying for the meal when we go out. We'd ask you to join us, but it is going to be very expensive, and I don't think that they'd let us have you join us, sir."

Alpha looks disappointed, "Where are you going?"

Sentinel straightens up, "To the World's End, sir."

Alpha Trion's optic ridges shoot up, "You certain weren't kidding when you said it would be expensive." Alpha gathers all four of them in his arms, "Certainly more expensive than what you all can afford, _I_ should be the one that pays for you all. My treat. You must have had your creators have put in a reservation decavorns ago."

"Sir, you can't-" Sentinel starts to protest, only to squeak when the bot pinches his aft.

"I have a standing reservation at the World's end. I am welcome there whenever I like, with a reasonable number of guests." He reaches down and massages Elita's aft, before switching to fondling Oil Slick and Optimus. "I would be honored to escort you all there this evening, and buy you some sweet energon and treats." The mech dims his optics flirtatiously, "They also keep a room there for me, with one of the best views in the entire city. I would like the four of you to come up and see it."

Sentinel looks like he's about to refuse, but Elita-1 beams, "We'd love that!"

Oil Slick and Optimus nuzzle against the mech as they start to walk, and Alpha smiles touching Optimus's shoulder, touching the weaver sculptures, "I see that your ninjabot won at two of the games. It seems that Elita-1 and Sentinel were the ones that were going to be paying if these were anything to go b-"

"Alpha Trion! You will get your aft back here, and _take this fish_!"

The mech winces, and turns, smiling widely at Rally Point, "I was hoping you could keep him for me for the sol. I have guests," He draws the four younger bots against him. "A turbofish would only get in the way of our plans."

"I'm not falling for that fragging thing again, Alpha Trion," the mech growls, scooping the amorous, whiskered fish out of the tank, plopping it into a portable bowl with a lid. "You take the fragging fish so it stops looking at me like I'm torturing it by denying it the chance to live with you."

Alpha holds them a little tighter, making Oil Slick's armor creek, "No, I need to be heading off. You can just deliver the fish to my home, and it can join the grou-"

Rally Point glares, "Do you think I'm stupid? I've tried that, and you've had the turbofish sent away under the 'no gift' clause. You aren't going to refuse it. You will _take_ the fraggin' fish. You can drop it off on your way to the restaurant before you go. Don't think you can't, because I know that you _can_. They won't care, and it isn't like you won't be trying to woo the ninjabot one into your berth as it is. You're going to try to get them all there, anyway. This way you just get them there faster. Take. The. Damn. Fish."

"Alright, alright, if you insist," Alpha takes the container, sighing dramatically. "The things I do for pretty new recruits." He leans down and dims his optics at them, "I do hope you don't mind if I take you to my home before our evening out. Perhaps that is a bit . . backwards, but I do need to get this little one into the solvent pool with the rest." The fish thrashes, fins flaring out hopefully, wiggling its long whiskers at him.

Rally Point looks smug as they walk away, "About fragging time you did this."

Elita-1 looks over at Oil Slick then says, "I still think we should do at least one more game."

Alpha perks up at that, "Actually, I think you should do two more. Since I interrupted that one, and you clearly only did two so far. A little longer won't hurt the fish, and I'd like to see how you all do the games. I can buy the winners the most expensive candy on the menu. I normally don't even buy it for _me_, but I have to choose the game."

Elita-1 looks interested, "I am for this. What about you bots?"

"I wouldn't mind playing a few more games while we're still here," Optimus says shyly, linking servos with Oil Slick. "What game will it be?"

Arms still around them, Alpha guides the bots over to a booth with very few bots standing nearby. "This, I think. I hope you like it, Optimus." It's an interesting booth, because it actually seems to open into a small courtyard area. There are the remains of destroyed and splintered objects all over, and the mech's optics brighten as he sees them approach.

"Oh, cadets. I can always tell when we've got ninjabots and cadets here." The bot rubs his servos together, "Care to demonstrate some of that battle skill? You'll have to do it blindfolded, of course."

Optimus and Oil Slick freeze at the edge of it, looking at each other nervously. Optimus frowns, "I don't want to rip my festival wrap."

Alpha smiles, "Well, you can take it off, and put it back on when you're done. I know that you have a screen to change behi-"

He shakes his head, "That was confiscated. It's contraband. Just like-"

Oil Slick kisses him, "But _I_ have my screen. I'll let you change behind it while Elita and Sentinel do this. Don't worry, love. I won't let anyone watch you."

"Thank you," Optimus says shyly, letting Oil Slick set up the screen. It means he can't watch Elita-1 and Sentinel do whatever it is that the game is meant to do, but he can slowly unwind his festival wrap, feeling increasingly naked as he does so. He can't believe that the mech would pick an event like _this_, knowing he would need to strip down. What a filthy old mech.

By the time he's unwrapped, cloth stored away in subspace, Elita-1 has finished, and is proudly strutting because she's managed to get a second level prize and only scuffed a bit of her paint. Oil Slick kisses his cheek, "Did you put the weaver sculptures on the shelf with the dolls?"

He nods, smiling, "Right next to them."

Oil Slick nuzzles him, "Good. I think that you'll win this one, since I don't really have a weapon other than my chain. And I don't really ... use that. I think you're going to win this, my love." His betrothed smiles at him, "You'll let me have a taste of the candy, won't you?"

He blushes, "Of course. You get out of the wrap. We don't want it destroyed as we do this."

Oil Slick nods, and then slips behind the screen, and Optimus watches Sentinel take on the game. It's fairly simple. Easier than the courses that Kup has been putting him through in bootcamp. Kup makes him go through courses and training stages that no other recruit has to, but Optimus tries not to resent it. It has made him better at fighting and protecting himself.

Small targets and obstacles come out, and have to be destroyed before they hit you and detonate, leaving you coated in colored powder.

Sentinel goes through it without a scratch to his paint, but misses several targets. Getting the second prize tier, just like Elita-1.

Optimus waits until Oil Slick slinks out from behind the changing screen, revving faintly like he _always does_ when his betrothed is naked like that, and allows himself to be blindfolded. There's a slight feeling of disorientation, and he can tell that the the booth owner cheats a little bit with the blindfolds, but not in any way worse than Kup. It would explain why Sentinel missed so much, though, since the bot isn't used to the fact that taking a step to the right feels like a step to the left.

He takes a few experimental steps, then rushes through the course, making sure to go for the bonus point he knows that Sentinel missed, and possibly Elita-1 did, as well.

He's always had very finely attuned audios, with his sensitive audio fins, and they help him here, directing him when the blindfold alters his magnetic field a bit, trying to trick him into believing an oncoming target is heading to his left rather than his right. He swings his axe, dodging the obstacles-the courtyard is relatively small, and makes it to the end. Optimus pulls the blindfold off and glances down at himself, smiling to see that there's not even a single speck of color on him. "That was much easier than the courses Kup is having me run."

The booth bot glares at him, "Oh.. You're one of... _Kup's_ bots. That would explain it. I'll be sure to make this harder next time so that it won't be as simple."

He smiles brightly. "What's my choice of prizes?"

The bot gives him a bitter look, and points out a selection of things, "You get the top prizes. Any one of the ones you want. Whichever you'd li-"

"The weaver sculpture. To go with the ones Oil Slick got me."

"Oh. So you're the bots taking the sculptures," the mech says flatly, pulling it off the shelf to offer to him. "Congratulations."

Optimus smiles, "Thank you. I believe it's your turn now, Oil Slick." His mech nods, and then accepts the blindfold. He makes it through the course shortly, but misses a few targets. Nothing explodes on him, but he doesn't get the bonuses that Optimus had.

"That blindfold should be illegal," he mutters, ripping it off at the end.

He holds out his servos, tugging Oil Slick behind the screen and kissing him softly. "I train with a worse one, love. I could help you, if you want me to."

Oil Slick shudders, "I _might_ take you up on that." They pull out their wraps, carefully putting them back on, helping each other with dressing. "I can't imagine _wanting_ to use something like that. It makes me feel sick."

He smiles, "It makes it better for when I need to trust what I'm hearing or doing other things. What if a bot tries to scramble what I'm doing? Decepticons _are_ deceptive. It is right there in their names. I don't want to be caught unaware."

"Then don't go looking for a fight," Oil Slick kisses him gently, fondling his aft under the pretense of adjusting his wrap. The bot squirms, and Oil Slick kisses him again, glossa flicking over his lips. "I don't want you risking yourself, my sweetspark."

Optimus is about to reply when another servo squeezes his aft, and his optics widen in shock as Alpha purrs, "That was a wonderful showing, Optimus. You do your betrothed great honor in being such a skilled warrior."

They both cling together giving the intruding bot a dark look, "Hasn't anyone told you it is _rude_ to come in when bots are getting dressed?"

Alpha smiles, "I _do_ know," the bot waves the cloak he's wearing at them, "I'm just here to tell you that we should be going. The turbofish is upset, and we need to go. Elita-1 is... not exactly happy. No femme is ever happy when she has been shown up so many times."

This is _very_ true. However, "You still shouldn't be groping my betrothed." Oil Slick frowns, "Let us get finished."

Alpha reaches out and gropes Oil Slick's aft, wiggling his optic ridges, "There, now you two are even. It was very unfair of me to only grope one. You're going to be bonded. I should make sure your afts get equal attention from my servos."

Oil Slick huffs out a laugh, looking away, "Get out of here, you lech." Alpha leaves with another wiggle of optic ridges. "That bot is a menace," he says, but his tone is lighter and happier than Optimus has heard from Oil Slick in a very long time.

Optimus nuzzles his lover, "Do you like him?"

Oil Slick looks away, "I... I don't-"

He kisses him, smiling, "If you do, I'm _glad_. I want you _happy_, Oil Slick. You just seem so miserable here. You're top of the ninjabots, and I'm top of my classes. We're going to be the _best_. I know we can't just leave. I just want you happy."

Oil Slick kisses him, putting the finishing touches on the wrap, "I only need you. No one else. No matter what. We don't need anything at all."

"We need other bots," Optimus objects lightly. "We can't live isolated on Haydon IV forever. I want our sparklings to see a Universe at peace. One without the shadows of war everywhere. Megatron may be missing, but only a fool would think him truly defeated." He gently cups Oil Slick's cheek. "I love you, but we have to keep moving forward. We cannot stay in place and stagnate."

Oil Slick pulls away, "We have places to go now, Optimus. We can discuss our futures later."

He sighs softly, and folds up the screen letting Oil Slick put it in his subspace before kissing him softly. "Love you."

Oil Slick perks up, smiling, "Love you, too."

* * *

**Please Review**


	9. Chapter 9

I just got Pokemon White. Oh Yeah. Pokemon forest. So awesome.

This will not interrupt that I am updating daily for this fic. For the next one? Well... I have yet to actually finish editing the fist chapter to it. WHOOPS

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

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They walk over to the group, where Elita-1 is practically simmering in anger, and Alpha says, "Let's head to my place so I can put the turbo fish in the solvent pool, shall we? I'm sure you'll all like to see that. We can head to the World's End afterwards."

"That sounds like an excellent plan," Optimus says cheerfully, trying to get Elita-1 calmed down once more. "Thank you so much for buying us fuel, Alpha Trion. We appreciate it."

Alpha wraps his arms around all four of them, "It is the least I can do to thank you bots for providing me with such a lovely view. I was thinking I would be all alone at the festival this year," he adopts a tragic tone, "doomed to wander the stalls, being frightened off by the boothbots that believe I cheat at their games. And then," his tone brightens, "you four arrived, and it was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud."

Elita-1 smiles, "We _are_ very wonderful looking." She tilts her head, "The best looking recruits you've seen all stellar cycle?"

Alpha gasps in shock, "Why, Elita, you do yourself a disservice, all _vorn_. You are truly a sight to behold. I am lucky to see you, and I could have never have done better. It is a treat to be allowed to bring you all to the World's End and get you all the very finest of energon and other tasty treats. My only regret is that I had to take this defective turbofish from Rally Point. All my others are going to wonder why I'm even bringing it home."

"What's wrong with it?" Optimus peers into the glass cage, "Other than the thrashing and fin flashing?"

Alpha brings the fish up so it can see his face, and it goes wild again, "The poor thing has a glitched processor and has fallen madly in love with me. It has attempted to come and sully my turbofish pond for many, many festivals now." He sighs, the fish flopping onto its back in the tank, splashing solvents all over in its enthusiasm. "Now the rest of the pond will think me mad for placing him with them, yet it would be cruel to deny a turbofish companionship. Perhaps it will find some other dignified, whiskered being to love."

Sentinel barks a laugh, "Maybe." They step out of the festival, "Should we transform?"

Alpha frowns, "Oil Slick and Optimus can't transform in their festival wraps. We can walk to my place, and they can change to a different outfit there. I'm sure that Oil Slick has a spare outfit for Optimus in his subspace."

Optimus sighs, "We should have just changed into the normal outfits behind the screen. It would have been easi-"

Alpha puts a cautious servo on his shoulder, "I would actually prefer you stay in the festival wraps for going to the World's end, but if you want to hurry, then we should have you change. There isn't actually any hurry _to_ go."

"We can go slowly," Optimus offers. He likes that Alpha knows that it's important to be well-dressed when attending such a prestigious place. "Do you fuel at the World's End often, Alpha Trion?"

"No. Only when I have lovely bots to accompany me." Alpha gives him a sidelong glance, and then gropes his aft again, "I dislike dining alone. Having someone gorgeous along with me always makes the fuel go down easier."

Oil Slick laughs softly, "Perhaps if you were not so _old_, you would have no trouble consuming your fuel."

Alpha gropes Oil Slick, "Or maybe I just like watching pretty young things fuel on good energon."

They make their way through the city, leaving the festival square behind. It's much quieter on the streets in this part of the city, surrounded by enormous houses and mansions with extensive gardens attached to them. Alpha is a very old mech, and he has apparently had quite some time to accumulate wealth and land, because his mansion is simply enormous. "You live alone here?" he asks, and Alpha's playful expression falls away for a brief moment, into something rather sad. The mech smiles once more at him.

"I am very rarely here, Optimus. I spend most of my sols in the council chamber, or with pretty young bots like yourselves."

He cuddles against Oil Slick, "I suppose." They walk into the mansion, and watch as the container is placed in the solvents. "Why aren't you just putting the turbofish in with the others?"

Alpha smiles at him, "I need to make sure the temperatures equalize, since I don't want them to be damaged. Granted, they are very hardy, and it would be unlikely to hurt it. I just think it is better this way, and it _is_ processor damaged. Better to have some sort of barrier between it and all the others before the real damage can begin. We don't need it to get hurt because it tries to follow me out of the house."

Sentinel's optics widen, "It can do that?"

Alpha sighs, "It has tried that. It hopped out of Rally Point's tank and flopped after me. I put it back in, and left. It wasn't very happy, but I don't like the idea of it being here. I just hope it won't offline somehow."

"They survive on land perfectly fine, but they cannot move very well on it," Sentinel interjects. "We had an old turbofish that used to come out of his tank when sparklings came to visit the shop. We got so tired of putting him back in that we built a tiny pool in one corner for him to live in instead of the tank, since it was at ground level."

No wonder there had been such a strange little pool at his cafe. It was certainly not a normal feature. "Is he still online?"

Sentinel sighs, "No. He offlined when I was young. He was one of the ancient ones. Been in the family for ages. He had," he gestures under his chin, "one of the enormous whisker beards they grow as they age."

Alpha smiles, "He must have been very happy and blue, since he was surrounded by sparklings."

Sentinel nods, "He was. Very happy."

Elita-1 shifts a bit, "We should go get something to fuel on. I'm starving."

Alpha straightens, "You're right. Let's head off."

Going to the World's End is uneventful, aside from Alpha groping them in the most blatant manner, and they are lead to a private room when the bots see who they are.

They get a table with far too little room, forcing them to lean against Alpha's sides on the small, round, half-circle of a booth. Oil Slick curls up against Optimus, and Elita and Sentinel lay on the other side, pressed tight to the mech. Optimus coughs politely, "Are there no other booths available?"

Alpha Trion smiles broadly, "This is my table, Optimus. The one I dine at every time I come here. Why would they direct me to another?"

Optimus frowns at the mech, "You did this on purpose."

The bot gives him far too innocent of a look, "Would I do that?'

"Yes," Oil Slick murmurs sleepily, cuddled against Optimus. "You would. Not that I really mind. It is very comfortable here. You're lucky that we're in our own private booth that no one else can see, though, or I'll be very angry when they bring out that special candy you are ordering for Optimus."

Optimus flushes, "There's . . you always make my enjoyment of sweets sound so obscene, Oil Slick. It really isn't that bad. I may make a few noises, but they're not the sort of interface-inducing noises you claim they are." He huffs, and picks up a menu, frowning, "There are no prices on this menu. How am I supposed to know what to order?"

The others chuckle, and Optimus feels himself flush. Oil Slick tips his head back for a kiss, "You order what sounds best to you, Optimus, and you let other bots worry about the price of that fuel."

He flinches, "I hate when you do that. I can afford to do this now. It isn't like how when-"

Oil Slick kisses him, "Alpha is going to be spoiling us. Let him spoil us." His betrothed's voice drops down to a tiny whisper that no one else can hear, "I know this isn't like how you couldn't afford energon as a sparkling. This is just Alpha trying to get at our sparks. He may actually succeed. Who knows? Let him try."

He blushes faintly, reading the menu and sending a text, _Should we let him if he asks?_

Oil Slick shrugs, _I don't know. I don't want him to ruin our betrothal, but I wouldn't say no to a threesome if you want a third. I think he's very charming, and I know you do, too._

/It might be fun,/i he answers back, hiding his face behind his menu. _Maybe we could see if he likes chains like you do?_

Oil Slick snorts audibly, waving off the attention of the other mechs and Elita when they glance at him, _You want to tie up Alpha fragging Trion? You certainly aim high, Optimus. I applaud your enthusiasm._

Biting his lip, Optimus whispers, "It was just a thought, Oil Slick. You don't have to make fun of me for it."

Oil Slick kisses him, whispering back, "Not making fun of you, just saying it is really unlikely."

Alpha looks at them, "What is really unlikely?"

Oil Slick gives Optimus a sneaky look, and Optimus _knows_ he isn't going to like what the bot is going to say, "Optimus wants to know if you like chains like I do. Since it is so obvious that you're trying to get us in the berth."

Optimus squeaks and turns as red as his painted shoulders. "Oil Slick!" he cries, horrified that the bot would say something like that so publicly. "How could you?" He turns to Alpha Trion, and can't bring himself to look at the mech, "I am so sorry, sir. If I had known that he was going to-"

"I sometimes enjoy chains and cuffs," Alpha says contemplatively, "though I generally prefer to be the bot applying them, rather than the bot in them." He dims his optics, "I would be glad to try it, if you find it arousing."

It's Sentinel's turn to squeak, "Sir, you cannot possibly be propositioning these mechs in _public_. They're betrothed."

Alpha dims his optic more, until they're just barely alight, "Oh, but they are betrothed bots from _Haydon IV_. There's no need to worry, Sentinel. All three of us will still be virgins after our night together."

Optimus nods, "It is simple fact. I have my bonding wrap in my subspace, safely placed. That's how you know."

Oil Slick dims his optics, "Mine never leaves my subspace, either. I keep it well guarded. We are very much virgins. Alpha Trion will be a virgin with us, of course."

Alpha's engine purrs, "Exactly. I rather like the idea. It will be quite wonderful, in fact."

Sentinel looks very disapproving, "That isn't how it works."

Elita-1 sighs softly, "But that seems to be how it works on Haydon IV. Just let it go. It isn't really worth it."

The waiterbot comes out with a smile, "Have you decided what you will be ordering this sol?"

Optimus nods slowly, "I'd like a cube of middle-grade energon with rust flakes on it."

Oil Slick covers his servo. "He'll be having your Praxian high-grade with lacewing flakes and rust blended in. As well as a piece of your best energon candy. I will be taking your Vosian high-grade, with Vos crystal melting into it. I've heard that your chefs can get the crystal to float perfectly over the energon until the first sip. I would love to see that."

The waiterbot nods, turning to the others, and Optimus hisses at Oil Slick, "What do you think you're doing? That's not what I wanted. I don't need something so very-"

Oil Slick presses a gloved claw to his lips, whispering back, "You will fuel on it, and fuel on it properly. You know how. I trained you. I spent a fragging vorn teaching you how to identify each and every single expensive strain of energon there is and you know how to drink it. You will _not_ do this to me, Optimus. You know what you're supposed to be doing. I know you love Praxian high grade, so you are getting Praxian high grade. You will _do_ this."

Sighing, Optimus falls silent, letting the other bots order. Elita-1 picks something expensive with cora crystals crumbled into it, and Sentinel orders some strange blend that sounds fragging disgusting to Optimus, but Sentinel often fuels on. Mixing rust and enzelin into energon made it . . .slimy. He could never understand how the mech could stand it. He lays against Alpha Trion's side and relaxes as best he can, not wanting to embarrass Oil Slick.

Of course, Oil Slick seems to want to embarrass him, because sharp claws start teasing the seams at his hips, dipping in just a little bit to rub at delicate wiring, plucking a sensitive wire bundle hard enough to make his sensors tingle. He squirms slightly, trying to get Oil Slick to stop without drawing attention to the inappropriate groping. The claws only shift up a bit, running along the lower seams of his sparkplates, slipping in under the festival wrap to tease him.

Beside him, Oil Slick taps his gloved claws impatiently on the tabletop. The mech has never been good at waiting for-

Wait.

Oil Slick's claws are gloved.

Then who-

He slaps Alpha Trion's pervy servo sharply, giving him a dirty look. "Filthy old mech."

Alpha gives him a lecherous look, "I could keep goi-"

Oil Slick wraps his arms around him, a very possessive gesture, and gives Alpha a dirty look, "You can do that when Elita and Sentinel aren't in the seat with us. You know our culture enough to understand about our 'facing practices. You know better than to do this. You won't be doing that again. We don't _have_ to invite you to our berth."

Alpha's servos run along their frames, "But you both look so tempting like that. How can I resist?"

"You can resist or you can spend tonight in a cold, lonely berth, fragging your servo instead of a spark." Oil Slick has developed such a filthy mouth since he joined up with the ninjabots. Optimus is not entirely certain he approves of the mech's tendency to talk about interfacing so casually, like it was not terribly obscene.

"Very well," the older mech removes his servos from them. "I will attempt to resist the awful temptation of two delicious younger mechs who will be warming my berth later. Forgive me if I fail miserably."

Elita-1 and Sentinel shift uncomfortably and Sentinel asks, "Oil Slick... What do you do to train so that you're the top ninjabot?"

Oil Slick twitches, "I don't... I don't do much... training. There are constant attacks, and you can never let your guard down. You never know when Master Yoketron may suddenly make a grab for you. You just need to be prepared for it. Or when any other bot may try to get you. I can take them all out because I can't let them near me. I _will_ stay safe. My mods are the best mods, and they can't get me no matter what."

Optimus rubs his lover's back, "It will be okay, Oil Slick. You're the top ninjabot. You know what you're doing. You do so wonderful at everything."

"You flatter me," Oil Slick purrs, leaning into his touch. The mech loves having his back rubbed, and his hips, and his aft. Especially his aft. Optimus would rub it, if it were not so obviously inappropriate to do so. He loves the way his cyclebot purrs when his aft is groped and squeezed. The bot _loves_ having his aft spanked, and Optimus has learned to love spanking him. The way it heats up his servos, and the hot, supple metal of his lover's aft . . it's wonderful making him rev and whine, grinding his spark on the berth or on Optimus's lap.

He especially likes to overload his spark against Oil Slick's aft while it is still hot and smarting. He knows Oil Slick loves it, too. His mech makes the _best_ sounds as it happens. He'd love to try it with another bot added in, but they can't really _trust_ any bot for that sort of thing.

He hums thoughtfully, nuzzling Oil Slick. _If Alpha impresses us, do you think we should tell him to keep joining us? Possibly offer him some sort of reward if he does?_

Oil Slick's engine purrs as he rubs his back, _Like what? We tell him that I strip down to protoform if he comes back in a vorn and doesn't tell anyone?_

/I think he'd be a good bot if you offered to do that for him, but I was thinking,/i his message cuts off, and then he adds shyly, a moment later, _maybe we could offer to let him overload against your aft after I spank it?_

"I'd like that," Oil Slick murmurs, gently teasing Optimus's headfins with his claws, slipping them up under Optimus's hat. "If he has a decently hot spark, of course." Oil Slick makes no pretense at keeping that part quiet, and Alpha accepts his challenge, grabbing the bot's servo and placing it over his sparkplates.

"Do you feel how hot I am? I can promise I will only get _hotter_."

The waiterbot comes over, noting Elita-1 and Sentinel's distress at being so near this, "Alpha Trion, sir? I think that you may be more comfortable if you're just with your... dates. How about we move these two?"

Alpha holds Oil Slick's servo firmly on his plates, but looks over at Elita and Sentinel, seeing their upset looks, "That may be for the best. I will, of course still pay for what they've ordered. My treat."

The waiterbot nods, leading Elita-1 and Sentinel away, "Right this way. We have a private table, just for the two of you. A romantic setting with cybercandles you're sure to love."

"I'm never double-dating with you two again," Elita says sharply as they walk away, and Optimus sighs. They had been less than pleasant dates, for sure.

* * *

**Please Review**


	10. Chapter 10

There's porn I cut out of this chapter. Catch it in my livejournal or tumblr

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

"Now that they're gone," Alpha purrs, "And we're alone, waiting for the bots to finish our energon, will you both do me the honor of indulging an old mech and sitting on my lap?"

Coughing, Optimus looks away, and Oil Slick shakes his head, something like admiration in his tone, "You're an old lech and you don't even try to hide it, do you?"

Alpha Trion smirks, "Fragging young sparks keeps me young, ninjabot."

Oil Slick smiles, "You still aren't going to get us to sit in your lap, _but_" be pauses dramatically, doing some sort of ninjabot flip over the table and landing on the other side of Alpha Trion, "you can have us both cuddling you now."

Alpha revs loudly in response, optics dim, "Primus, I love ninjabots. You're so all so flexible and lovely." The bot's claws dip into Optimus's seams again, "I kind of wish that there was a berth right here we could use right now."

"Not in public," Optimus insists, squirming against his claws, which dip deeper into his circuitry now that Sentinel and Elita-1 have left, and they are alone in the room. "We won't risk our bond just for a frag. If you want us, you will play by Haydon IV rules, and make certain everything incriminating is done behind closed and locked doors, without witnesses."

"Oh, don't worry, little mech," Alpha purrs, lifting him onto his lap, squeezing his aft, "I won't break your bond." Optimus feels his spark pulse hot, strange, something in him thrilling at the size of the mech. Alpha is not as large as, say, Ultra Magnus, but he's bigger than Optimus is.

Oil Slick makes an angry jealous little sound, "Put him back down."

Alpha reaches over, rubbing along Oil Slick's side, "You should turn off that vocal processor scrambler. I want to hear what you really sound like. Just like how I want to see what you really look like without the femme mods on, so when Optimus ties us spark to spark I can know exactly what you look like, and I'll be revving for all the right reasons."

The offer of bondage makes Oil Slick's anger fade away, and he stares at Alpha for a moment, confused. The waiter takes that moment to arrive, and he looks at Alpha Trion with something like disappointment as he places their cubes and candy on the table. "Your energon sir, and a special treat from the chef for the _betrothed_ couple." The tray of rust sticks clatters as he places it on the table, staring a challenge at Alpha, who still has Optimus on his lap. "We hope you enjoy your meal."

Oil Slick gives him a filthy look, "They gave you _rust sticks_, Optimus. Rust sticks with your _Praxian high grade_. That I had already ordered with Lacewing. I wonder if they realize exactly what they were doing."

Doing all of that together simulates the feel of licking a spark pretty much _exactly_ if you hold the high grade on your glossa like you're supposed to.

Optimus blushes, "I imagine they don't think we know."

"So they're perverts, hoping that they'll catch a glimpse of you all wide-opticked and blushing about the way your glossa is tingling?" Oil Slick removes a glove and dips his claws in his energon, testing it, "Mm. They sweetened your energon as well, Optimus. Probably think you're a bit younger than you really are. I bet they'd be surprised by what a wild cybercat you can be in the berth."

Optimus makes a face at his betrothed, "You are terrible."

He's tugged down into a soft kiss, "I am." He's nuzzled, and Oil Slick finally lets the vocal processor scrambler go away, "And you love me for it." His love's voice sounds raw and scratched from the harsh treatment, and he reaches over to rub Oil Slick's throat.

"I don't think we'll be doing this very much. Or, if we do, we don't use the vocal unit. You look wonderful as a femme, but I don't need the voice to complete the illusion."

"Maybe I'll just use it when you need a good, hard fragging," Oil Slick teases him, pinching at his headfins. "You'd like getting a rough frag from a femme, wouldn't you?"

Alpha revs loudly between them, "If he wouldn't, _I_ certainly would." He squeezes their afts at the same time, "Frag, I'd really love to see both of you done up like femmes. You could have me do whatever you wanted."

Optimus smiles, hiding it against Oil Slick's cheek. "Maybe, Alpha, but I'm not going to dress like a femme without a really good incentive to do so."

Alpha hums, "Then I'll just have give you proper incentive." The mech's claws dip into their seams, toying with them and flaring up pleasure nodes, "And I am very good at giving proper incentive."

Optimus blushes, pushing the servo away, "If you remain with us, you're going to have to start wearing _gloves_, Alpha Trion. We're going to fuel now. I want to see how it tastes. If this is as good as everyone says."

Optimus is slowly set back on the chair, and Alpha rubs his side, "It is _better_ than everyone says, Optimus. Absolutely delicious."

"I would hope so." Optimus takes the cube, "for what I'm sure they must be charging for it." He takes a tiny sip, barely registering Oil Slick's comment to Alpha-'You're going to love the noises he makes.'

And then flavor explodes over his glossa, and Optimus moans softly, optics dimming with simple pleasure. He loves good energon. Treasures it. Optimus holds the Praxian high-grade on his glossa like he was taught, and feels it tingle against his sensors, almost like Oil Slick's pretty spark. It's very hard not to grab a rust stick to shove in his mouth to make the tingle even stronger.

He offlines his optics, only swallowing when the tingles stop. He takes another drink, jerking a little in shock when he realizes that either Alpha or Oil Slick put a rust stick in it to intensify the flavor. He mewls softly as the taste bursts over his glossa, and he lets it sit and tingle slowly.

Oil Slick watches him, optics dim, rubbing Alpha Trion's chest, just missing the sparkplates, "Is it good, my love?"

He blushes, finishing the mouthful before answering. "The best I've ever had."

"You will find the candy even better," Alpha promises, plucking at his wires, "you-" He's interrupted by the waiterbot arriving again, an even darker look on the bot's face. "Was there something wrong, Flareburst?"

The waiterbot just glares up at him for a moment, and then down to where he's playing with Optimus's wires, entirely shameless in his groping. "You are _vile_, Alpha Trion. If you sully the reputation or courtship of these mechs, you will _never_ be allowed here again, do you understand? I will personally bar you from ever entering."

"Ah, Flareburst, these are bots from Haydon IV, I can assure you that I can do absolutely _nothing_ to sully their reputations or their courtship. They will remain as pure as the freshly fallen snow on their planet until they are bonded, and I will not be of any danger at all to their-"

Flareburst glares, "If they're in trouble because of you, you are _never_ fueling here again. The owner is backing me up on this, and so is the rest of the staff. You are disgust-"

Oil Slick interrupts, "We can promise you, that by tomorrow morning, we will _still_ be virgins. we have nothing to fear from the pervy old lech of a mech. He is treating us to a night out, and we wanted to get out of where we were. Don't worry."

The waiterbot gives him a sympathetic look and comes over, lowering his voice, "You should know that Alpha Trion has a reputation for taking mechs back to his rooms for a look out at the city. Don't let him take you up to the room he has rented here. And for Primus's sake, don't let him take you to his home. He's-"

"We'll be fine, thank you," Optimus interrupts him, reaching over to pat the bot's arm. "We are more than capable of protecting ourselves from one lecherous old mech."

Flareburst nods reluctantly, walking away, but gives Alpha one last dirty look. Alpha ignores it, and returns to fueling on his cube, "I do love that about Haydon IV betrothed bots. Such lovely virgins, the lot of you." The mech sips his cube, making a pleased sound, "When are you going to be bonded?"

"When we graduate. I need to be an Elite Guard, or a Prime at the very least. I would prefer to be an Elite Guard, though."

Alpha rubs his side, "You are the very top of your class, I'm certain you could do it."

Flattered, he feels a flush rise in his cheeks, and wishes he didn't blush so easily. "Thank you, sir. I'll certainly do my best. I," he glances at Oil Slick, "have been hoping that my beloved would join me in the Elite Guard, so we could be paired together in our eventual posting."

"And _I_ have been hoping that you would drop that silly idea and come back to Haydon IV with me so we can start our family," Oil Slick counters, sipping calmly at his energon, the Vos crystal slowly dissolving on one side of it. "Our sparks will not take much more to synch, and if we were to lower our protocols, I estimate that we could have a sparkling within a vorn or two."

He hadn't realized it could be that _soon_. The idea makes his spark pulse with longing, tiny sparklings crawling over his spark and his beloved can now even touch them with bare claws and not hurt them. "Do... Do you really think so?"

Oil Slick reaches across Alpha Trion, "I do. We have been learning what it feels like in the classes, and it has been described almost exactly for what we have. A vorn or two. Possibly a few more, and we will be primed for sparklings. We should return to Haydon IV, and get bonded, my spark."

"I will consider it, Oil Slick," he promises, rubbing absently at his sparkplates, imagining a sparkling growing inside him. What it would be like to weave the swaddling cloth for their little sparklings, and how they would have soft, supple fibers to weave their sparkling's first cloak. Optimus smiles to himself, and wonders if their sparkling will be as stubborn about not wanting a cloak as he had been.

Alpha Trion interrupts them with a tease, "And if you have a hard time sparking, I have helped quite a few couples get their energy at a peak, so they could spark the next time they fragged. I enjoy _helping_ like that."

Oil Slick pats Alpha's cheek, "And that isn't allowed by Haydon law, which you should know. You will not be able to do such a thing with us, Alpha not-a-weaver Trion."

Alpha gives them a disappointed look, "But you'd make an exception for me, wouldn't you?"

Optimus shakes his head, optics dim, "Not unless you're written into our contract. I don't think that you could convince my papas or his mamas to let such a pervy old lech join in our berth. Isn't that right, Oil Slick?" He takes a sip of his energon, letting it tingle in that lovely distracting way.

A sad sigh from the older mech, and he tugs Oil Slick onto his lap as well, so he and Optimus are pressed tightly together, "How disappointing. I've helped to spark dozens of sparklings. I am very good at it." He waggles his optic ridges, "And I've never had a single complaint."

Oil Slick pats Alpha's thigh armor, "Of course you haven't. No bot would want to upset a mech as old as you are. They're probably afraid you'd suffer a terrible spark-attack if they did, and then they'd be guilty for offlining one of the oldest mechs alive."

Alpha rubs their sides, optics dim, "I am perfectly healthy. Like I said, fragging young bots keeps me young. You two in my berth will only extend my life even more. Maybe I'll outpace you both."

They both turn, kissing him softly, "Pervy old bot." Oil Slick rubs Alpha's plates, hidden by Optimus's frame, "It really is too bad that you don't have a chest wrap. If you did, we could tease you more openly. I could play with your spark under it, like I do with Optimus."

Alpha's optic ridges raise, "You actually do that? I hadn't even thought about that."

Optimus slaps Oil Slick's servos away, "He does, and he really shouldn't. It's always risky, because no chest wrap is really thick enough to block out the light of a spark. He puts us at risk of being caught, and then our betrothal would be broken." Oil Slick sticks his glossa out like a sparkling at Optimus, who sticks his out back at him. Alpha chuckles at their antics, and tugs them closer to him, wrapping his large, thick cloak around their frames, hiding them from sight.

"I had my cloak made a very long time ago," he murmurs, adjusting them under it so they're pressed chest-to-chest, "and it blocks light very well."

Optimus blinks, feeling wonderfully warm wrapped up in it, and Oil Slick cuddles against them both. "Is... Is this servo made?" Oil Slick rubs a gloved claw against the cloak, "It looks like a cloak no one even makes anymore since looms were invented."

Alpha smiles, "My creators made it for me, a _very_ long time ago. I keep it in good repair and take care of it. I make sure that it isn't damaged."

Oil Slick rubs it, and Optimus nuzzles against Alpha, "It feels like a heating blanket."

"It was made long before heating blankets were created," Alpha says, his tone soft, to keep them relaxed and comfortable against him. "The fibers used to insulate it cannot be found any longer. The elements have all degraded into other things, or have been used up. They are very warm, aren't they?" His servos rub over them, and the two bots murmur their agreement, optics dim and drowsy.

Perhaps he could fall into recharge like this, just curled up on Alpha's lap.

Alpha kisses the top of their heads, "I see we're out of energon, so I hope you saved room for the candy you earned, Optimus. It _is_ the best energon candy there is. No other bots can make it, and it takes very special modification to do. I'm sure that you'll want to share with Oil Slick, of course."

He blinks, and nods, having completely forgotten that. "Y-yes. I do. I'd like that a lot."

Alpha dims his optics, the corner of his mouth quirking up, "Then you will be pleased to know that there is a very special way to share this sweet with another mech." Alpha holds the candy in the center with his claw tips, and places it between them, right at the level of their mouths. "You eat from one side, and he from the other, and you meet in the middle with a kiss."

That was a terribly lewd way to enjoy a piece of energon candy.

"Filthy old bot," Oil Slick murmurs, rubbing Alpha's plates before starting on the candy.

Optimus takes a cautious bite, gasping at the flavor, it is decadent in the sweetness and it just _melts_ on the glossa. By the time they get to the last of it, Oil Slick and him have their glossas shoved in each other's mouths, fighting for the last of it, writhing on top of Alpha's lap. The pervy old bot is rubbing their frames possessively and looking at them with dim optics, and they can feel his spark pulsing hot against them.

"Are you finished?" Flareburst walks over, glaring at Alpha angrily, "because it looks like your containers are completely empty."

"Oh, we're finished. Thank you for asking, Flareburst," Alpha hums, scooping both mechs up, "I take it that I am not welcome in the room I have rented here?"

"You are not welcome here ever again," Flareburst hisses at him, holding an empty cube menacingly. "If you ruin their courtship, you can consider yourself blacklisted. Forever."

Alpha nods his understanding, and carries both mechs out of the room, Optimus and Oil Slick squirming, trying not to rub their aching chests together out of fear that they'll rip their festival cloths off and interface right there in public from how hot they are.

Alpha kisses them both on the temples, "You both look lovely."

Optimus writhes a little bit, "You could have _told_ us that would be so... so..."

Oil Slick licks his lips, leaning against Alpha's chest, optics dim, "You are so very hot. Did so little from us get you like this? You are such an _old_ bot. I wonder if you can keep up with us. We may need to feed you some red cora or get you some love bug so that you're not going to be slowing us down. We want to keep you nice and hot through the entire night."

"I can assure you that I will have no problem staying hot enough," he purred, and then folded down into his vehicle alt, a rather large racecar with a smooth surface that was easy for the smaller mechs to hold onto. "Now, I am going to drive you home, and we will see which of us offlines first. I will give you both a hint," Alpha's voice was smug, "it will not be me."

Optimus finds a seam and rubs his fingers over it. "I know it will not be me. Are you sure you can withstand Oil Slick's charge? I'm going to chain you spark-to-spark with him."

Alpha revs loudly, "I am _certain_ that I will be able to do that, Optimus." The bot twitches, and they are strapped down, and there is a magnetic charge, holding them like sparklings. "Now hold still. I'll be carrying you so you don't ruin your clothing. I want to get you to my place."

Oil Slick rubs his claws along Alpha's frame, "This is terribly undignified, you know. I don't know if we should allow it."

Alpha revs again, taking off down the street, "You're still going to be going with me."

"You're carrying us like sparklings," Optimus objects, but there is a certain warmth and comfort in being carried like this. The magnetic charge is comforting-it always has been, because it makes a mech think of being a sparkling, seeing the wide world for the first time, held in place on his creators roofs.

"You are not sparklings by Cybertronian law," Alpha teases, and Optimus flushes, knowing that by Haydon IV laws, he still has a vorn to go before he's fully adult, and Alpha knows it too.

Oil Slick rubs Alpha's roof, "I kinda want to frag you in your vehicle mode. You're very hot like this, and your spark is so easily accessed."

"Oil Slick!" That isn't something you say to a bot so soon. Optimus _really_ isn't sure if he likes the influence that the ninjabots have done to his betrothed. If he wasn't so set on being at least a Prime, he'd take Oil Slick up on that offer to return home, if only to stop the dirty talk like this. He wants his bot that doesn't _say_ things like this. It just simply isn't done.

"Optimus," Oil Slick mocks him lightly, reaching over to tug him across the magnetized top of Alpha's frame, "just look at how hot he is like this. He just needs to pop open his plates and we could do whatever we wanted. You've fragged _me_ in cycle mode before, and I've certainly played with your hot little spark when you were in your vehicle alt. Don't act so scandalized. No one can hear us while we drive like this."

He tucks Oil Slick against him, "Still." He leans on Alpha, "You shouldn't say such things when we only just met him this sol."

Alpha revs under them, hot and loud, "I am very willing to have you use my spark as I'm like this. If you want to chain Oil Slick to me, that would be even better. It would be a fantastic idea. Will you be pushing him against me until we offline from the overloads?"

He hums thoughtfully, "I haven't actually considered that, but I will think about it. I want you in bot mode when we 'face. If you come back to us, we will do more ... experimental sort of things. For now we will just do our usual 'facing."

"Very well," Oil Slick purrs, sliding his claws along Alpha Trion's frame, making the mech swerve a bit on the road. Optimus hums, and kisses his cyclebot possessively, reminding him that Alpha is just a temporary addition, and it would be bad to have their lover for the evening crash into a lightpole just because he wants to make him rev more.

Oil Slick tugs Optimus as much on top of him as he can, with the magnetic charge holding them in place.

They somehow make it to Alpha's home without crashing, and when they get there, they are carried in. Alpha kisses them both possessively, rubbing their frame, "I would like to be allowed to rip you out of your clothing, but I get the impression that the only one that would like that is Oil Slick, and then you would both murder me in the morning for it."

Optimus slowly takes off the both of their gloves and boots, putting them in subspace, "You would be charged for it, and expected to find a proper weaver clan to help us fix it. One that understands the significance behind what you destroyed. Then you would not be allowed back in our berth while we were wearing something so expensive."

"A pity," the mech sighs, before taking their servos in his, letting them walk into his berthroom to show them some level of respect. He studies them both as they slowly undress, and says, "Should you ever break your betrothal, or someone discovers you are not virgins, you are both welcome in my home. I would gladly shelter you until the rumors and gossip stop, and then take you to a planet that will allow you to bond without shame."

Optimus leans up and kisses the mech gently. "Thank you."

Alpha pinches his aft, dipping his claws in a now exposed seam, "No need to thank me, Optimus. I'm just doing what anyone _should_ do."

* * *

**Please Review**

Like I said up top. Porn in this chapter got cut. Check out my livejournal or tumblr to get the uncensored version.**  
**


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, guys. I know you're going to _hate _us for this chapter. Just bear with us. We do happy endings, remember? But I'm going to have to remember to remove Oil Slick from the character thing on here. Sorry. You got a happy Optimus/Oil Slick fic from us, remember? It is the Princess Oil Slick one in my stories. Go read that. It'll cheer you up after this o3o

I'm updating tomorrow, so don't worry :V

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

Optimus hums softly as he takes out the datapad he was sent, absently copying it to his processor like he normally does, and smiles at the large amount of candy that Oil Slick has sent him. It has been several vorns since they went to the World's End, and Oil Slick has been modifying his frame so that he can actually make the candy there just for Optimus. His beloved has just recently gotten it _perfect_, and Optimus is looking forward to eating the entire batch with Oil Slick one piece at a time on the hotel berth.

He opens the file from Oil Slick, smiling at the warm greeting that Oil Slick always begins with now. _My Spark, it has been so long since I spoke to you, and so long since I've felt the warmth of your arms around me. I have betrayed you._

Optimus stops there, staring at the words for a long time. Betrayed?

He reads on, and optical lubricants spill down his cheeks as Oil Slick confesses to interfacing with other bots. Confesses that he's been interfacing other bots for a vorn now, without even giving Optimus the slightest hint of it. Never telling him. Never inviting or asking, never letting him know. Optimus's spark feels like it's breaking in half. He does not understand how he could have driven Oil Slick to do this. He's tried so hard to be everything the mech needs, and now-

He drops the datapad and buries his face in his hands, sobbing openly.

He's not sure what happened next, but the next thing he knows, he's curled up in Sentinel's berth, and he can hear Elita-1 ranting angrily. "What the _frag_ did Yoketron think he was doing? Stealing a bonding wrap? What the _frag_? How could he do this sort of thing and expect to not have his top student freak out about the fact that he's being forced to do slag he hates?"

Sentinel rocks him gently back and forth, "Ninjabots don't get this sort of thing, Elita. They really don't. They get peace, they get serenity. They don't understand monogamy. Didn't Optimus say that Oil Slick is Haydon IV nobility? They really don't have that sort of thing _join_ the ninjabots."

"We have to turn this file in," Elita-1 says, holding the datapad, her servos shaking with rage. "He's admitting to offlining dozens of bots. This has to be reported. It's evidence of his guilt."

Optimus keens, reaching for the pad, "No, no please. Don't." He clutches the pad to his chest, shaking with sobs. "Don't . . I don't want bots to think of him this way. It's . . it's not his f-fault. He was driven to this. They . . it's not his fault."

Sentinel gives him a pained look, "Optimus... He... he offlined Master Yoketron. We can't _not_ turn in the datapad. It will only count against us if we don't. You have a copy of it, don't you?"

He nods, extremely reluctant to give it up. He hasn't actually read through it all yet, it hurts him too much. He's only gotten to how he's been betrayed. "I just-"

Elita-1 takes the pad back, "Then I'm turning this in. You need to understand that your safety is paramount, Optimus. We don't want you to be kicked out because he did this. You're assured to be a Prime. An Elite Guard. There's no way you can't be unless you screw it up. Not turning this in? _That is screwing it up_. I will do it for you. You stay with Sentinel."

Optimus curls up against the blue mech and sobs louder, hiding his face against Sentinel's chest. With this . . his betrothal to Oil Slick is officially ended. His beloved fragged other bots, made it public, and . . became a murderer. He keens, his spark shattering into a million pieces. He'll never feel happiness again. Not after this.

He sobs himself ragged, eventually worked down to sniffles of misery, his frame shaking profoundly every time he thinks of Oil Slick. "Shh," Sentinel soothes him, "recharge, Optimus. Recharge. We will watch over you. Recharge, and rest. It will be better in the morning."

He clings to Sentinel and sobs himself to recharge.

* * *

It takes Optimus several solar cycles, but eventually he manages to read all the way through the letter. It essentially explains how from the very beginning the senseis had been pressuring Oil Slick to break up with Optimus, and be 'free of all restraints' and frag anyone he wanted. They had kept trying to steal and touch his bonding wrap randomly every time they saw him and would _never_ let up on him on anything.

It wasn't very surprising that Oil Slick broke.

Optimus just wishes he had listened and returned to Haydon IV like he'd been asked. No... begged. Oil Slick had begged him several times by the end to give up on being a Prime and just go back to Haydon IV. Anything but be on Cybertron.

Optimus can't help but feel a little bit happy that Yoketron and the other senseis are offline.

He feels a bit guilty about it as well, but he's not letting that ruin him. He had to . . he had two very unpleasant conversations-one with Oil Slick's creators, and one with his own. Both had begged him to come back to Haydon IV as well, but with the deaths of so many bots, Optimus cannot.

He did not have the spark to tell them that he was currently under investigation as well, simply because he had been betrothed to Oil Slick. There's no doubt he'll turn up innocent, but he _is_ being investigated, and there's nothing he can do about that. Nothing at all. He can't go home, no matter how much he wants to curl up in his creators' arms.

There are whispers that he is in danger.

Oil Slick's note had . . . at the very end, it had concluded with a simple message to him. _You are still mine. You will always be mine, and I will make you understand that I am sorry. That I am sorry for hurting you. I'll get you, Optimus, and take you with me, and keep you safe from them all. Safe from the bots who betrayed me. You are mine. I will speak with you soon._

It is.. deeply unsettling.

For now he is continuing with his classes and working on what he needs to do. Even if his spark feels like it is broken into millions of pieces, and he feels half offline.

Not that it really matters, since he's been called to talk to Ultra Magnus, and is standing in front of the bot in his office. The mech gives him a strained smile, "Optimus. I would like to say that-"

Optimus is not really in any sort of mood to deal with the bot, and looks at Ultra right in the optics, "You... you could have stopped this. You knew it was going on, and you never stopped it. You _never stopped it_."

"No, Optimus," the mech says softly, "I had no idea what was going on. I knew he was under stress from his senseis, but all ninjabots undergo significant stress during their training. It is difficult, learning what they teach, and-" he's stopped by the sharp slap of Optimus's servo against his cheek.

"You touched his bonding wrap. You made the senseis think it was acceptable to touch a bonding wrap. To look at it." Optimus turns from him, "You drove my betrothed mad, and now he," his intakes hitch, and he can feel optical lubricants prickling him again, "he is officially no longer betrothed to me. His creators saw his letter, and they," he clenches his servos, "apologized and severed our union."

Ultra puts a servo on his shoulder, but he slaps it away. "If I had realized, I never would have done it. I am sure you already know that your loom and everything else is out of quarantine, since it is well known that you find sewing and weaving soothing. You can take your time off just... making clothing. Do what you like. No one will take that from you, Optimus. Anything you wish will be there for you. It is a very stressful time for you. It is a stressful time for everyone. Just..." The mech sighs softly, "Just try to relax."

"_You_ just try to relax," Optimus hisses, aware that it makes little sense; all he wants to do is go fall back into recharge. Endless cycles of recharge and misery.

Ultra Magnus sighs, "Your supplies will be in your quarters. You are being given access to better energon rations and more leave-time. We hope that you will choose to stay with us and continue your education as an Autobot, and hopefully enter the Autobot Academy." The mech looks away, "Mistakes were made. Unforgivable mistakes, yet we hope you have the capacity to forgive them. We are Autobots. We learn from the errors we make, and we do not repeat them again."

He walks out of the office without saying anything, unsure if he can even care.

* * *

Sentinel puts a servo on his shoulder, "Optimus... I think... I have enough hats now."

He carefully puts the finishing touches on the latest one he's made for Sentinel, after doing so many just by servo, using the loom is almost insanely fast. Elita had banned him from making her after the tenth he presented her with, and he's rather surprised that Sentinel has been so tolerant to let him go up to fifty. "If that's what you want."

Sentinel takes the hat from him, carefully placing it in subspace. "How about you start to make us cloaks? How does that sound?"

He hums carelessly, going back to his loom, "I like hats."

Sentinel puts a servo on his own, "You've said. But you need to do other things. How about you come spar with me? Kup wants you to try out one of his courses. I'd like you to try one with me and Elita. We don't even have to do it blindfolded. We can just... go in. You can wear your clothing, and nothing will happen."

Optimus stands reluctantly, "Alright. I'll come with you." He dusts his cloak and chestwrap off, wishing he could just stay at his loom. But he still wants to graduate bootcamp. He wants to move on to the Academy, and he's so very close to being able to do so. He can't let . . . he has to move forward. "Don't expect me to score as well as I used to. I am very much out of practice." He adjusts his hat so it covers his headfins more modestly.

Sentinel adjusts his cloak, tying his chest wrap a little more effectively, "No one expects you to be perfect, Optimus. We just want you out there. You can do this. We know you can."

He nods, leaning against the mech, and letting himself be cuddled, "I guess." His spark aches, and he just wants to sit back down and not think, "Is there anything specific we're doing this sol? Or did Kup just want me there so I don't fall too far behind?"

"It is close combat, your specialty. He wants you to try your best. If you don't do well, that's okay, but we just want you to try."

"Alright." He tries to focus on something positive. His creators love him very much, and they had just called him a sol ago to inform him that if he was accepted into the Academy, they were making enough now that they could pay part of his tuition. He would still need to find a way to finance the rest of the tuition and his room and board, but he suspects that Oil Slick's creators will pay part of that, leaving him with out petty expenses to have to worry about. Thinking of Oil Slick makes his spark twinge again.

"Kup's missed seeing you," Sentinel says softly, walking with him out of the room. "He'll be glad to see you on a training course again."

He gives Sentinel a weak smile, "That ... That's nice."

They step out, and Kup gives him a gruff look, but he can see how relieved his drill Sargent is, "About time ya got yer aft out here, Optimus. Ya need ta show tha rest a these bots how ta do this _right_. Or has this rattled yer processor so bad ya can't even do that?"

He has his axe shoved in his servos and he's pushed into the obstacle course. It is one of the easier ones, but he _knows_ this is a proving test. Kup will have his head if he does too badly at this.

So the very first thing he does it remove his clothing to give to Sentinel. "Hold this." It will only get in his way, since he knows Kup will be only upping the difficulty for him if he does badly. Kup does not do well with failure.

Optimus focuses his attention on the course, and the obstacles that come out, holographic and physical objects, things that shoot up or aim weapons at him. It's not really fair to call it a close-range course, because while some bootcamp instructors may keep it close-combat, Kup seems to be of the mindset that a course on close-range combat means that the _cadet_ is armed with close range weapons, while the enemies get whatever the frag they want.

He has to do far more dodging and work than he remembers on this course, but he manages to do it, and finishes. When he's done, he leans on the edge of the course, and Sentinel puts his hat back on him, along with his cloak. Kup hums softly, "Well, ya did... enough. We'll get ya back in shape soon enough. At least ya had enough sense ta leave yer clothing off before starting this up."

If Optimus was in top condition, he could have left it on and not taken any damage, while staying in one spot. He did _horrible_, and everyone knows it. He's going to have to work incredibly hard to get back to where he was. "Yes, sir."

"I expect ta see ya on the course first thing in the morning from now on," Kup warns him, before clapping a servo down on his shoulder. "Yer my top student, and I've recommended ya for Autobot Academy, but ya gotta pass my final course and graduate here first."

Optimus casts a withering glare at the mech, "Your final course is a cruel joke." It is the training equivalent of fighting against several dozen Decepticons, ending in a long, drawn-out battle with a holographic Megatron. For any of Kup's recruits to pass bootcamp, they have to make it to Megatron. For any of them to get a recommendation and approval for the Academy, they have to be able to survive in combat against the Megatron hologram for at least half a breem.

* * *

Optimus carefully does one last check of his outfit, knowing it has been a _very_ long time since he's actually been on Haydon IV and his sense of what should or should not be worn has decayed a very great deal. He is glad that the ship has a few mirrors placed around it so that he can check, and he adjusts his hat and gloves. He knows his entire outfit matches perfectly since he made them all himself, but it is still something he worries about. His boots are carefully placed so that he'll be nice and warm during the frozen winter season that he is no longer used to here, and his hat is extra warm.

He can feel his spark breaking again as he recounts what he's going to be doing, just before he graduated Oil Slick had been sending him various gifts and notes about what he was doing. Things like getting various mods for him. Like making candy for him. Like sending him rare crystals. Like sending him little things that made Oil Slick think of him. Interspersed with things that broke his spark like talking about how various other bots are hot. Or fragging other bots. Or talking about finding some freaky bounty hunter with a 'facing mod like Alpha Trion that didn't taste disgusting and sending all sorts of notes on the mech.

He's not sure why he even kept all the information about Lockdown, but he supposes that all information could be useful some sol. It won't hurt him to keep it.

But really, the last one was the last straw. He can no longer hold out for Oil Slick. Not when he's decided on a course of action that is clearly gone to a point of no return. Just seeing it makes his spark hurt and makes him want to shake the mech to bring some sense into him.

/OPTIMUS, I'VE JOINED THE DECEPTICONS. IT IS SO WONDERFUL. THERE IS A WEAVER HERE NAMED SCALPEL, BUT HE DOESN'T ACTUALLY WEAVE. I HAVE MY OWN LAB. MEGATRON IS THE BEST FRAG EVER. AS SOON AS I GET EVERYTHING SET UP, I WILL GO GET YOU. LOVE AND KISSES, OIL SLICK./i

His beloved has gone to the Decepticons.

His Oil Slick has _fragged Megatron_.

Optimus had already shared the datapads with his Autobot instructors, feeling his processor and spark ache with the double betrayal of his beloved, but now . . . now he has to show them to his creators. And Oil Slick's creators. Some part of him had always believed that Oil Slick would regain his senses. Would come back to him some sol.

That part of him is dead now.

He still thinks that Oil Slick can be redeemed-that he can come back to the Autobots and make up for the terrible things he's done. All bots deserve a second chance.

But he does not believe that Oil Slick can come back to him. He has given up on that now. He's going to formally request that their betrothal be completely annulled, rather than the simple break that his creators had initiated. His and Oil Slick's names would be erased from the court records as ever having been betrothed.

He takes a deep in-vent, and steps out of the ship.

He is deeply amused to find himself swarmed by various weavers who click and chitter over his clothing, a blue and red one that he recognizes as Spindle cuddles up against his neck and says, "Optimus, you vill never leave me like zis again. I see zat you are vearing boot und gloves. Zey are very vell made. How did you get proper craftsmanship in ze backvaters of Cybertron?"

He smiles at the compliment, walking through the street, "I made them, Spindle. Thank you."

The little weaver touches his hat, "Your vork has much improved, zen. You vill be ... visiting us later, ja?" The bot's tone turns not quite sad, "Ve heard about Oil Zlick, ve vill... comfort you. You vill not have to vorry."

He has no want of possible force hacking from a weaver colony. He now realizes that he's being looked as a possible sparkling carrier for them, and they will use this as a way to keep him in the berth and constantly carrying. He's going to be a Prime, and he graduated with full honors. Oil Slick's letter managed to get him to go against the holographic Megatron for a full three breems. He obliterated the records and won a full scholarship. He's not ruining that by letting weavers figuratively, or even literally, tie him down.

"No, thank you."

The weaver chitters something in the strange, clicking, private language of the weavers, wiggling his mandibles, and the weavers around him click back, walking around him like a moving carpet of sharp, spiny limbs. He knows they could swarm him if they truly desired it, and capture him that way. He's seen them swarm a bot before, though that had been an attack, rather than an attempt to spark a clutch with him. There hadn't been much left of the bot after they were done with him.

Optimus had been horrified then. Was still horrified by it now.

"But ve insist," Spindle says, sliding a tiny set of claws up under his hat to rub at a headfin.

He tilts his head away, "I need to go visit Wildstar and Glitterfrost, Spindle. Then I want to spend time with my creators. You ca-"

The weavers all chitter to each other, and Spindle says, "Vhat vill you be talking about?"

He raises an optic ridge, "You will find out eventually. I will only be there for a little bit, and I will be here for a stellar cycle. I need to sort things out here before I return to Cybertron."

More chittering, and then Spindle looks triumphant as the other weavers that had been clinging to Optimus's frame reluctantly detach themselves, stumbling clumsily through the snow drifts as they hurry away. "I vill accompany you. It just so happens zat I am on my vay to visit zem as vell."

Optimus raises an optic ridge and starts walking through the snow, adjusting to the cold slowly, "Really? If I were to contact them, would they mention they were expecting a visit from you?"

Spindle chuckles, clicking his mandibles with glee, "Do you know of any bot zat vould be upset viz a visit from a veaver?"

He sighs softly, "Of course."

They make it to Glitterfrost and Wildstar's home, almost forgetting to knock because he's so used to letting himself in. He smiles when Glitterfrost yanks him in and hugs him tightly, "Sparkling! There you are! Your creators are so _angry_ at you! Why weren't you back forever ago? You should have returned the moment the betrothal was broken! You shouldn't have stayed on Cybertron at all!"

He shakes his head, "I needed to finish what I was doing. I got top honors, and I'm going to be a Prime. I'm certain to be in the Elite Guard, as well."

The femmes exchange a look, and then touch his shoulder gently, "Your creators have not told you about-"

Spindle hisses at them, stabbing at their servos with his peds, "How dare you ignore me?" He curls possessively around Optimus, tiny peds wiggling against Optimus's seams. "I agree zat he should have returned to Cybertron immediately. His creators are being very, very stubborn about ze offer being made to zem. Zey are lace veavers by trade. Zey should appreciate our offer."

Optimus gets a bad feeling in his tank, not really sure he likes the bot's tone, but not able to do much about it. Wildstar gives Spindle an irritated look, "Yes, yes, you are exactly right, it is a _wonderful_ offer. If only they would accept it. They still needed Optimus here so that they could talk to him about it. And, look, there he is." She turns to him, "Now, what was it you needed that was more important to speak to _us_ first?"

Optimus offlines his optics, and pulls out the datapad with all the notes that Oil Slick has sent him, and places it in Wildstar's servos. "I wish to have Oil Slick and I's betrothal annulled. He has betrayed all that was sacred about the bond and constantly rubs it in my face about how he is no longer with me while declaring he wants to be with me. I wish to be able to inform him there is no way at all that we can ever be together."

Glitterfrost gives him a very sad look, but nods her head in understanding, "We had been expecting this for some time, Optimus. Ever since he . . since the first note you shared with us. Though we had hoped it would not come to this, we understand. We will have your betrothal struck from the records. You will not need to worry about it. Your part here is done." She draws him into a comforting hug, "You are still welcome in our home, Optimus, no matter what our sparkling has done to you. We both feel like a second set of creators for you."

He smiles, hugging back, "Thank you. I need to go to my creators now. Like you said, they're really angry. I just wanted to get this done as fast as possible."

She gently pushes him to Wildstar, who also gives him a hug, "You take care, sparkling. I'm sure you'll accept this opportunity for what it is."

He don't know what they're talking about, but bids them a warm goodbye, and heads back outside, and goes to his creators. They've actually moved to a better place since he left, and he's glad, since it is a better neighborhood. He's also happy he has Spindle, or he'd have gotten hopelessly lost. He pauses at the door, feeling like a stranger, and his servo poised at the door.

Spindle gives him an irritated look and hits the buzzer, "Just let us in! Ve are freezing! It is cold, und ve are _finally_ doing zis!"

His spark flutters nervously. What is the weaver talking about? He doesn't have much time to contemplate it before he's tugged inside by his creators, both of them smothering him with hugs. "Sparkling," Paper Powerdrive says warmly, rubbing his back, "it has been entirely too long. You should have visited us more frequently. You should have come _back_ to us after the betrayal. We don't understand why you insist that you must stay with the Autobots. You are better off here, with us."

Optimus shakes his head, "No. I am going to be an Elite Guard, papas. I've been accepted with a scholarship. I-"

"The Skyline weaver clan has offered an alliance with us," Papa Steelbolt interrupts him.

He blinks, "O-okay?" He isn't really sure what that has to do with him staying with the Autobots.

He's gently placed in a chair that he knows is new, and Spindle curls up in his lap. Papa Powerdrive gives him a cube of energon, and says reluctantly, "... You... You... You are the p-price of that alliance, sparkling."

He is glad of the cube, it hides his shaking servos. He holds it, and sips on it before answering, "So you've approached them for wanting me to clutch with you, Spindle?"

The weaver nuzzles him, "Nein. Meine whole clan vants to. You vill have _so many_ sparklings viz us, Optimus. Ve vill be so happy."

His spark is elated and horrified at the same time. He's always wanted a large family, but he does _not_ want to give up on being a Prime, and he knows that the weavers would require him to give up all other allegiances. The match would be perfect for his creators. They would never have to worry about a bill ever again, and they would gain so much prestige. It would be perfect for them, and he would have the huge family he's always wanted.

But he can't.

He just can't.

"No."

Spindle stares up at him with a puzzled look. "Nein?"

"I am going to be a Prime. I am the very top cadet. There is no way I won't be an Elite Guard. I fought a hologram of Megatron for three full breems, with is three times as long as Ultra Magnus did. I am on the fast track to lead the Autobots. I am considered the most promising bot there is. If I don't go back, it is very possible that they will think that I am being held prisoner against my will. I want to go back."

Spindle clicks angrily, "But you vill be viz ze veavers. Ze _best_ model type."

"I do not want to be made into a berthwarmer. I am not a bot meant to keep sparks warm, and I will not accept a position as carrier for your clutches. I am going to be a Prime. You cannot-" tiny weaver claws press against his lips.

"Nein. I vill not hear of zis." The little mech puffs up his chest angrily, and skitters onto his other shoulder. "You vill come to our clan zis night. If you still say no to our offer, zen I vill consider the rejection."

Consider it and then take his spark and force hack him regardless. No thank you. "I have no interest in joining you in the berth. Like I said. I will be here for a stellar cycle, then I will be returning to Cybertron. We can discuss a contract over the course of-"

Spindle makes an adorable little huffing sound, "I vill not allow you to refuse us! If zis is vhat Autobots do, I do not like it. I vant you viz me, and you vill stay viz me. I have been viz you ever since ve vere sparklings, and it is not fair zat Oil Slick got you first. It is my turn to be viz you."

Weavers go to a different school than the other model types, mainly because sparklings play rather rough. He hadn't realized that Spindle had been so... attached to him, but that would explain why the mech kept kissing him during festivals.

"I'm not a toy to be passed around, Spindle." Optimus plucks the weaver off his shoulder and places the little bot on the table. "You do not get to decide when you have me. It doesn't work like that." He sips his energon slowly, frowning as Spindle scurries back up onto his shoulder, tiny laced boots clinking against his armor. "I will consider your courtship, but I am not going to simply agree to it, and there will be many more conditions attached than I'm sure you'll be happy with."

The little bot stamps his tiny peds, "You _vill_!"

He raises an optic ridge, then turns to his creators, "Is there anything else that I need to know?"

They glance at the weaver, then shake their heads, "No. Not really. Your room is just down the hall. You can go unpack. We'll have everything set up for you soon. You even have a separate room for your loom now. Did you bring us any specialty materials from Cybertron?"

He smiles, glad for the subject change, "I brought you all _sorts_ of things I know you'll love." He starts to bring out the large amount of things he's collected during his time on Cybertron and starts to spread it out for his creators.

* * *

**Please Review**

I know, I know. "Zira! Tash! How could you be so terrible? How could you have Oil Slick do this? Oh noooo!" etc. You need to realize that Oil Slick was not actually meant to be in the fic in the first place, and he only got put in because I really, really, _really_ love Oil Slick. You'll find out who Optimus was really supposed to be with way later :V

If you hate us for this, that's okay. You don't have to read it. Or you can go read our Optimus/Oil Slick fic that has them end up together and happy. The Princess Oil Slick one in my stories. Go check that out.


	12. Chapter 12

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

Optimus puts the last of the tiny items away into his subspace, making sure everything is correctly organized. "I'm not paying your way."

Spindle glares up at him, tiny peds stamping on the ground, "You are not leaving vizout me!"

"The Academy isn't going to let you stay with me, Spindle. You should know that. You will be expected to find your own lodgings and fuel." He will not be able to fit his large loom in the tiny, shared quarters he will have with Elita-1 and Sentinel, but his smaller loom will fit. They let him weave whenever he wants now, so long as it does not interfere with his studies and steady improvement in combat and diplomacy skills.

Optimus has glanced at his schedule, and refused to share it with his creators, because his first class each sol was . . it was terrible.

A class meant to teach him utter calm and diplomacy, under even extreme circumstances.

A class where he has to strip down to protoform at the beginning of each lesson.

He is not looking forward to it, and he knows that _no one_ does. No one likes being in protoform.

Spindle gives him an angry look, "I vill be staying viz you. I can pay for boz our fuel. You vill not vorry about zat. I know about ze packages you still get from Oil Zlick. He vill not let you starve, eizer. Zey are alvays filled viz ze best candy. Ve vill be fine."

Optimus rubs his optics, "Don't go through my mail."

The weaver waves a servo, "It vas on ze table and already open. I read vhat vas zere. You vill bond viz me, even if you refuse to have any contract viz my clan so far. I have my contract written up, and ve vill have it all nice and signed as soon as we bond, ja? I cut avay your pretty pretty bonding wrap, you are mine forever."

"If I ever end up in my bonding wrap, I'm sure you'll be involved somehow," Optimus mutters to himself, scooping the mech into his arms. "The ship is waiting. I want to say goodbye to my creators and then we're going. Don't expect special treatment from the instructors at the Academy." He's heard that Kup is taking a break from bootcamp and is going to be teaching a few courses. He plans on taking them, if he's allowed to.

"I am a veaver," Spindle waves a servo, "und zey vill do vhatever I tell zem to."

He moves the mech to his shoulders, "Whatever." He walks to where his creators are, and hugs them tightly, "Love you."

They smile at him, "We love you, too, Optimus." They look him over, "You have all of your things, right? You can't store you large loom here, you know."

He nods, "I have it in my subspace." Even if he won't use it, he has it properly stored. He knows that most bots don't understand that a large subspace is absolutely needed, but bots that grow up with clothing do. He'll never be out of room to store things. "Anything else?"

"Just this," Papa Steelbolt holds something out for him, and Optimus takes the fabric from him. "I made it for you. I hope you wear it at the next festival on Cybertron for me."

It's a beautiful lace shawl, made to be draped over the shoulders, worn on top of a cloak like a snowy mass of white that cascades down, ending in delicately carved crystal beadwork to keep the ends weighted properly. It's the best thing his papa has ever made, and Optimus feels his optics prickle, "Papa . . is this the shawl you were going to wear when you asked Papa Powerdrive to have a re-bonding ceremony with you?"

Steelbolt flushes, and sputters, "That . . that doesn't matter, sparkling. I want you to have it. Powerdrive and I can wait another vorn while I make another shawl."

He frowns, "I can't take it, papa. You should be able to have your rebonding ceremo-"

Spindle taps his peds irritably, "Ve vill be going. You vill take ze present. Zey already have zeir bonding wraps zat my clan gave zem, und zey vill be helped make a new shawl. You do not need to vorry about it, meine Optimus. Ve vill be going to Cybertron, und you vill continue to zis foolish vant to be a Prime vhen you should bond to _me_."

Blinking in shock, he looks at the weaver, "You made them _bonding wraps_?" Those are insanely expensive. He still isn't sure how he got his for free just by telling the story about wearing it to the festival with Oil Slick.

Spindle waves a servo, "It does not matter. Zey vill have a _proper_ bonding ceremony now, viz proper bonding marks. You vill not vorry. Ve vill go to Cybertron, und you vill bond viz _me_."

"With your clan, you mean," Optimus corrects him absently, and then leans over to kiss his papas' cheeks. "Be well, Papas. Let me know when your ceremony is, so I can come visit." He sighs, "If the instructors are kind, I will get time to come before, but if the lessons are hard, then I will likely only be able to come for a short time for it." With one final hug, he leaves, Spindle perched on his shoulder. Snow falls all around them, building up thick heaps wherever there's a bit of shelter from the wind. Spindle makes a disgusted noise.

"I vill not miss ze snows. Zey are terrible here. I hear zat Cybertron is much varmer."

He smiles, optics dimming in happiness at the remembrance of warmth. "It is. You're going to have to make much lighter clothing. Even lighter than your summer things." He tickles the bot teasingly, "Maybe you'll even," he gasps dramatically, "take off your leggings!"

Spindle gives him a horrified look, curling into his cloak to hide, "Zat is not decent! I vould not! No vone vould take off my clozing!"

He laughs softly, "On Cybertron, they wouldn't let me wear _any_ clothing unless I wasn't at bootcamp."

The little bot gives him a disbelieving look, "You lie! You are a liarbot! No vone vould do zat!"

"I spent most of my time there without any clothing, Spindle. You adapt to the feeling after a while." His special classes would force him to. He's glad the weaver won't be allowed in them. The mech would report it back to his creators and get him yanked out of the Academy.

They can't do it _legally_ any longer, because he is an adult, but they can guilt him into it. Force him to choose between his family and the Autobot cause. Optimus is genuinely unsure which he would pick.

Spindle makes an unhappy sound, then cuddles against him. "I do not vant to be naked. I have not been naked for anyzing ozer zan vashing up. I vill not be naked for anyzing else."

Optimus raises an optic ridge, rubbing his finger along the bots side, "For _nothing_ else? Absolutely nothing else?" He's been naked for 'facing other bots, surely.

Spindle shakes his head, "Nozing else."

"Not even interfacing?"

Spindle flushes and smacks Optimus's servo, "Of course not! I vear my cloak and my legvarmers and boots. I only take off ze wrappings for my chest, like ze good bots do. Ve veavers get cold very easily. Ve like to be varm vhen ve 'face."

Optimus smiles to himself, carrying the mech onto the ship, settling down in the tiny compartment given to them for the long ride back to Cybertron. Even with space bridge use, it's a long trip. "Well, you should get used to baring some armor, then. Cybertron gets quite hot in the summer."

Spindle shakes his head, "Nein. I vill _not_ look like a whorebot."

Optimus smiles, "You won't, but you'll need to realize that if you keep insisting that I wear everything that I am now, I will be very upset with you. I will be wearing significantly less when we get there. Since I've graduated, I won't have my things taken away, but I will be expected to dress, or rather not dress, a certain way."

The tiny bot skitters back and forth unhappily on the desk he's been placed on, "Vhat do you mean?"

"It means, Spindle, that if I take off my clothing, you will not think that I'm hitting on you."

Spindle makes a soft, sad sound, clicking his mandibles unhappily, "You vill be naked often?"

Optimus nods, "Yes. And most of the bots on Cybertron will as well. A few choose to wear a cloak or bit of cloth as a fashion accessory. Alpha Trion has a very nice cloak, for instance. I have seen no bots dress as we on Haydon do. Not unless it is the Allspark festival." Where clothing was traditionally worn to discourage the Allspark from modifying their frames in bizarre ways. Or so it was said. With the Allspark long gone, few remember.

Spindle holds out his claws, a tiny demand to be held that Optimus obliges, "Vill I have to be naked? I do not vant to be naked."

He shakes his head, "No. You will not. I can actually be fully clothed except for during classes. You will not be joining me for classes, so it will not matter."

Spindle holds onto him, "I _vant_ to go to classes viz you. I should be allowed to go."

He shakes his head, "No. You are not paying to go, you did not earn the right to go, you are not part of the Autobots. You are just insisting that you should be coming with. You are lucky that Elita and Sentinel are allowing you to join us in our tiny dorm room. If it gets too cramped, it is likely that you will be told to move out. Or we will move out. Something like that. You shouldn't even be coming with me."

"You vill belong to my clan," Spindle answers him, stroking Optimus's chest wrap. "Ve vill spark many clutches viz you, und you vill be very happy viz us." His tiny mandibles press against Optimus's chest wrap, nibbling lightly on the fabric. "I made a metal mesh for ze berz ve vill share."

"We are not sharing a berth."

"I made a metal mesh for the berz ve vill share," Spindle repeats carefully, "and I zink you vill like it. It is very soft. Ze best mesh I have ever weaved."

He rubs his optics tiredly, "We aren't sharing a berth."

Spindle nuzzles him, "Ve only have _vone_ berz here, Optimus. I am not recharging in ze chair."

"I was going to make you something a little more traditional. Your nest of blankets on the flo-"

Spindle huffs, "I am not a turbofox! I vill be recharging on ze berz viz you! I vill not recharge on ze floor on a _blanket_! You vill be bonding viz me, so ve vill share ze berz. You vill not shove me avay like zis!"

"Very well. _If_ the instructors allow it, you may share a berth with me." Even though he knows that the little bot will just build himself a nest in one corner of the berth no matter what he does. It is how the weavers like to recharge. "Now please, let me unpack so we can settle in." The cabin is small, but Optimus intends to spend the entire trip weaving. Hopefully it will keep Spindle too occupied to try and 'face him.

* * *

Optimus thinks he likes being a bot that can actually be trusted to know what they're doing. He's the first one into the dorm room that he shares with Elita-1 and Sentinel, and he's not really sure which berth he should choose. He's pretty sure he should take the smaller one, and they should move the third one out, since Elita-1 and Sentinel will be sharing the largest one, but he can't really be sure.

He taps his ped thoughtfully as Spindle lays on his shoulder and makes an unhappy sound, "I am... I am offlining, meine Optimus. It is... it is too... too hot."

"Take off your hat, then," he replies, completely unsympathetic. "They have the heat on because it is fall here. A season you are completely unfamiliar with."

Spindle whines, a sad, forlorn little sound, "I am going to offline and you only zink of getting me naked! You are a terrible mech!" his little peds flail in the air, and Optimus sighs, sitting on the medium sized berth. He wraps a servo around Spindle's midsection and grabs the tiny laces on one ped, slowly stripping the legging off. "Nein!" Spindle shrieks with dismay, kicking his peds madly.

"You have summer clothes in your subspace, don't you? Pull those out and we'll exchange them. Then you won't _offline_ from heatstroke-"

"Nein!" the peds lash out again, "you cannot watch me undress!"

"Says the bot that was _constantly_ trying to get me to open my plates for him while we were on the ship here. If it is that important to you, get out your changing screen and-"

"You actually brought a _weaver_. I thought you were joking."

He doesn't look up, "Hello, Elita. Why would I joke about this?" He pokes Spindle, "Get out your changing screen."

The little bot whines unhappily, "It is too hot! You get out yours!"

He rolls his optics, "Mine is too large for you, but _fine_, you fussy little thing. If you don't get changed, I'll take you to a medic, and you'll get to deal with the lack of clothing like I did at bootcamp. And I'll tell you right now that it isn't any fun."

Spindle grumbles unhappily and pulls out his own changing screen, which is really more like a changing box, as it has a top as well. He skitters inside and angry chirps and clicking sounds emerge as Elita-1 and Sentinel stare down with wonder.

"Do you think he'll-"

"No, Elita. He won't make anything for you unless he genuinely likes you or you're willing to pay him. I get the feeling he'll be charging a lot more here than he did on Haydon IV."

She makes a disappointed sound, but nods. "So he's the one that has the clan that wants to bond with you?"

"Nein!" comes a shout from the box, "I vill be bonding viz him! _Me_! I vill be getting ze bonding wrap to cut from his frame. He is _mine_! I vill just be sharing him viz ze clan to clutch!"

Optimus rolls his optics, "I'm not bonding with you. I've already told you this. You're the one that has insisted on coming, but that doesn't mean that I am going to be bonding." He rubs his plates, spark hurting, "I just... I don't want to bond to anyone right now."

The small bot scuttles out in his summer wraps, which are much thinner material, but still likely a bit too warm for him to be truly comfortable. Optimus pulls Spindle onto his lap, the little mech purring more contentedly now. "Zese are to be our roommates?" he asks curiously, looking at Elita-1 and Sentinel. "Zey are not as pretty as you are, meine Optimus."

Elita raises an optic ridge, but doesn't say anything. Sentinel looks around the room, "I think we should get rid of the smallest berth. The one you're sitting on will be yours, Optimus. The largest will be ours. Since we're the top scoring bots, they won't complain about it, and we'll get more space that way. You can put up the _large_ loom, too."

Optimus smiles, "You hoping I make you more clothing?"

Elita's optics light up, "Would you? I'd love another cloak. Just... no more hats? I really don't need more hats. And Sentinel _really_ doesn't need more hats. He has so many, and his subspace is so small. We can't fit any in."

Optimus frowns at them, "I told you to invest in getting a larger subspace, didn't I? You need to be able to hold as many things as possible. You may think that it is a waste, but it really isn't. You never know if you need to just carry something. Even Kup admired my subspace as sensible when I pointed out how much fuel I could carry. You need to just save up your money and do it."

"It's expensive, Optimus. Much more expensive than investing in a few boxes or storage spaces." Elita reaches over, hovering her servo above Spindle's tiny frame, "That's a gorgeous hat. Can I see it?"

"Nein!" Spindle shouts at her, servos coming up to clutch at his hat protectively. "You vill not strip me, you vicked femme. I vill stay modest, even if you are shameful and naked." His optics flicker over her dismissively, "You look like vone of the streetvalkers on Haydon, but even zey have ze decency to vear a cloak."

Optimus butts a servo to his forehead, rubbing it to stave off a processor ache, "Please be polite to the bots here. Calling them prostibots will not make you any friends."

Spindle nuzzles him, "I do not need to make _friends_ viz zese bots. You vill be bonding viz me, und ve vill return to Haydon IV. Zat is all zat is needed."

He puts the bot off to the side, "I will be staying here. You don't get to do anything to try to pull me away from it. I'm just not the least bit interested."

"You are being difficult, meine Optimus. I do not like ze attitude zat ze bootcamp has given you. I must speak to your drill sergeant and complain zat he has ruined you." Spindle climbs up Optimus's chest, clinging to his chest wrap possessively. "Now, make ze ozer bots go avay so I may test ze berz vis you."

Optimus sighs. "No."

Spindle huffs, "Vhy are you so _stubborn_? You vill lay down on ze berz, und ve vill interfa-"

Optimus flicks the weaver's hat off his tiny head, "No." He knows it is incredibly rude, and something that he would _never_ get away with on Haydon IV, but this is Cybertron, and Spindle needs to realize this.

The weaver shrieks loudly, "My hat!" the mech scrambles over him, and somehow ends up on Optimus's head, under his hat, hiding. "Get my hat! I can not be naked! It is not proper! You must get my hat!"

He leans down, picking it up, and turns to Elita-1 and Sentinel, "Want to go get whipped energon?"

"You really wanna get something that makes you make _those_ noises while you've got a weaver under your hat?" Sentinel asks, shaking his head in amusement. "A weaver who is after your spark?"

Optimus just smiles. "He won't come out without his hat." Spindle pokes a servo out and waves it around demandingly, but Optimus refuses to give in.

Several cadets are hovering around something in the center of the common room, talking in hushed whispers. Optimus frowns, steering away from the energon dispenser with Spindle riding on his shoulder. The little mech has gotten approval to be in most of his classes by this point, purely by _bribing_ the instructors.

Making various items of clothing for the instructors really shouldn't have been allowed, but they had. The only one that hadn't was Kup, and he had allowed Spindle after the weaver had run an obstacle course. Spindle had broken a leg at the very end, and Optimus had to spend the past stellar cycle rubbing nanite salve onto him every night. It wouldn't had been so bad except for the fact that Spindle made the most obscene noises as he had done it, and acted like he was doing the filthiest things possible short of playing with his spark.

Fragging weavers and their _claws_ that don't rub salve nearly as well as fingers.

Optimus steps in front of the cadet huddle, clearing his intake loudly. They blink up at him, and Optimus reaches down to take the datapad from them, "Let me see what you're looking at." He tips the pad towards himself and flushes with shock and embarrassment. There's an image capture of a weaver with his sparkplates open, flinching away from the camera, front peds raised defensively.

Of course, bots not familiar with weaver body language would likely interpret the pose as deliberately coy and seductive. "Where did you get this?"

The bots all look at each other, shuffling back and forth, not wanting to say anything. Spindle hisses angrily from his shoulder, "Zis is disgusting! How could somevone force a veaver to do somezing like zis? He is not happy! Look at him! I vant zem to be punished for zis! How dare zey! I vill not stand for zis! Ho-"

He puts a servo on Spindle's back, petting him to calm him down, "I think that they are going to be assigned cleaning duty until they realize that looking at something like this in the common room is simply not allowed. They will also study datapads on weaver body language, which I will be providing them." He smiles, and it isn't exactly a nice smile, "So you all know exactly how the bot feels when you look at it in the picture that you are panting over."

The cadets don't complain, aware that he outranks them. He's officially enrolled in the officer's program in the Academy. These cadets are still in bootcamp. He could order them to do all sorts of terrible punishments, but Optimus is a fair mech. He'll make sure they _learn_ the lesson he wants them to learn, and not simply learn to be better at hiding their indiscretions.

Spindle hisses louder, prodding at the datapad screen, "Look, he is still vet. I zink zey must have snuck in on him vhile he vas in ze vashrack."

He rubs Spindle's side, turning the datapad off, and walking with the cadets to the main office for their punishment. "That is very likely. We aren't going to be able to figure out who did this, though. You know that. We could send it to your clan on Haydon IV, but..." He trails off, knowing Spindle's answer.

"Nein!"

It would ruin whatever reputation the weaver had, and they would only spread it around Haydon IV, the largest population of weavers there is. They don't want to do that, but the idea of just leaving a weaver in distress is terrible. Optimus isn't sure what else to do. He will very likely just drop the datapad off, and let someone with more experience deal with it. That is what the point of certain offices of the Autobots are _for_.

After turning in the cadets for their punishment details, Optimus drops the datapad off with the Elite Guard intelligence secretarybot, knowing that something will be done with it. Some attempt will be made to locate the tiny weaver and discover if he is being held against his will, or if the image is simply a bad capture by a scorned ex-lover.

Spindle shifts unhappily on his shoulder. "Ze bots zat do zat are awful. Veavers must be treated viz respect. Ve are not sparkvarming toys."

"Says the bot that wants nothing more than to tie me to a berth and never let me out." His words may be bitter, but his tone is soft, and he gently moves Spindle so he's cradling the little mech lovingly in his arms as he walks. "I will never let that happen to you if I can help it."

Spindle cuddles against him, head resting in the crook of his arm, "I vant to go to our room und make clozing for ze dollies zat you make. Zey are just ze right size for me, and so many bots like to buy zem."

He smiles, rubbing the mech's back, "I can do that."

"Zank you," the bot purrs, nuzzling against him. Several bots shoot jealous glares at Optimus, which he ignores. Weavers are not exotic creatures. He is used to them, and there's nothing particularly erotic about them. Yes, they are very small, and have very tiny sparks. That does not make them especially delicious in the berth. It just makes them smaller.

Optimus tickles Spindle's antennae, one of which is poking out from under the mech's hat. "You are getting more relaxed about clothing, I see. That's a good sign."

Spindle gasps, tucking it back under, "You are so filzy!" The little bot adjusts all the clothing so it hangs perfectly, "You make my clozing all rumpled, and zen tell me zat I am getting more relaxed. You are terrible. It is like when I let you fix my leg, and you had to untie my leggings! You exposed me for everyone to see! I looked like a slutbot!"

He steps into the room, closing the door, and setting Spindle down, "You looked like a bot that was sobbing in pain that needed to be fixed and refused a medic because the medic didn't know how to fix weavers."

Spindle huffs, "Zat sergeant of yours is a menace. I cannot believe zat he made me run a course zat vas not even designed for veavers. Of course I vas damaged. Ve are not made for battle, ja? Even Scalpel, meine distant cousin does not fight viz ze Decepticons. Zat maniac stays out of ze combat." He clicks his mandibles with distaste, "I still believe zat Kup should have been disciplined for making me go zrough ze course."

He pats the bot on the back, "_Everyone_ goes through that course. He had even turned off all the things that would damage you. If you had been a little more careful, you wouldn't have tripped and snapped your leg. I was there to fix it, so there was very little damage done."

Spindle swipes at his fingers, "I only accepted his apology because he lets me sit on your shoulder during class!" The weaver nibbles on his fingers, flickering his bright blue optics at him, "You can fight on ze hardest course in ze fanciest clozing I made you, while I sit on you. You are ze best at zis, Optimus."

He can't help but flush a little with pride at that, even as Spindle takes his servo and flicks his tiny little glossa against a fingertip.

The little bot purrs, "Did you know zat ze best zing about having a veaver as a lover is zat I can slip under your chest wrap and play viz your spark vizout even having to take ze wrap off?"

He frowns at the mech, and pulls away, "Spindle. I thought we've already established that I'm just not ready for a relationship with anyone? You're just pushing me away with your open admissions for wanting my spark." He may not be as pure as the driven snow, but that does not mean that he should be pursued like this.

Spindle clucks his glossa at Optimus, "You make zis very difficult for me, meine Optimus. Meine clan believes zat I should vait until you are in recharge, chain you down, put you in your vrap, and zen slice it from your frame." Optimus's spark leaps with fear, "But I vill not. I vant you happy and villing. You vill be mine only vhen you vant it viz all of your spark. Ze clan vill simply have to vait to clutch, no matter how it irritates zem."

His spark calms at that, and he pets Spindle softly, "Good." He reaches into his subspace, and pulls out the cloth that Spindle made him for the dolls, and gently places it beside them as he starts to work, "Lets work on this, shall we?"

Spindle scoots into his lap, nuzzling him happily, "Ja. I vant to make ze clozing for ze dollies you make. You have gotten good at making weaver dolls, und so many bots like zem."

He nods, "Because they look a lot like the prizes bots get at the festivals, Spindle. I explained that. You're lucky I'm so willing to indulge you in this."

The little bot makes a tiny sound and cuddles against him, and they settle in to work together.

* * *

**Please Review**


	13. Chapter 13

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

Optimus sits nervously at the cafe table, twitching a bit every time bots approach. He doesn't understand why Sentinel and Elita-1 had been so insistent that he show up here alone. It had taken extreme effort to get Spindle occupied-and by occupied he means that he managed to trap Spindle in a box. A very comfortable box filled with nesting blankets and sweets, but he knows Spindle is going to be furious with him when he gets back.

He's worried that Sentinel and Elita-1 might be doing something foolish.

Like getting bonded.

So he's incredibly surprised when a minibot slips into the seat across from him. The bot is clearly unused to wearing clothing, and shifts nervously in front of him. "O-Optimus? I'm Curbside. Sentinel and Elita said that you weren't going to be expecting me, but would want to meet me?"

He blinks at the bot for a moment, then rubs his optics tiredly, "You're wearing your hat wrong, and the chestwrap is tied in the back, not the side. Don't even get me started on your cloak and boots. Should I just..." He sighs softly and stands up, pulling the bot out of the seat, carefully adjusting everything so it is correct. "There. I'm glad that you went through all the effort to get everything so that it would be traditionally from Haydon IV, even if you didn't know how to wear them."

Curbside shifts, "I didn't actually do that. I said that I liked you, and Sentinel and Elita dragged me off to get me clothing they thought you'd like."

Optimus can't help but smile at that. "They made good choices." He reaches over and rests a servo over Curbside's. "I may not have been expecting them to spring a date on me, but . . we're both already here, and I need to refuel. Should we order a cube or two?"

He's had time. It's been many vorns, and his spark no longer aches as badly at the thought of Oil Slick. It really is time for him to move on, even if he can't accept the more serious offer of Spindle. A . . fling with a friendly bot may be just what he needs.

Curbside looks relieved, letting Optimus tug him down next to him, "I'd like that."

He rubs the minibot's side, smiling, "Well, I'm very partial to crystal blends. What about you?"

The mech curls against him, optics dim, and they really begin to relax for their date.

* * *

Optimus smiles as he puts the finishing touches on the audio receiver covers he made for Curbside. As much as he loves dragging his minibot down by the lovely nubbins to demand the mech lick his spark, they need to be properly covered so that Spindle doesn't attack the bot on sight. Not that has been a problem, since they've been together for a full stellar cycle now, but he just thought it would be a nice gift.

He presses a little kiss to the covers, a superstitious practice about imbuing them with good luck, and then smiles as his mail arrives. There's a large box-from a company he doesn't recognize-and his spark chills a bit.

That's usually a sign that he's getting something from Oil Slick. He reads the note, which is addressed to him with love, from Curbside, and his spark calms again. He opens the box, wondering what the mech could be sending him-and promptly purges his tank on the floor, backing away from the box in horror.

Spindle shrieks in terror, shooting up into his arms, and shakes uncontrollably. "I did not vant zis! I did _not_ vant zis!"

In the box is Curbside's head, cold and grey, leaking energon. The audio nubbins that Optimus loves so much cut off savagely by what can only be Oil Slick's claws, and his little horns snapped off cruelly.

Optimus cuddles Spindle, his spark aching with horror and loss. "I know you didn't, Spindle. You didn't like him, but you didn't want him offline."

In the box is a small datapad, which Optimus picks up, even as Spindle contacts the guards, informing them of the grotesque and terrible gift that Optimus had received He reads the note and sobs helplessly. _Your spark is mine, Optimus. Never make me do this again. I will if you try sharing your spark with another._

He feels sick, and ends up purging again, frame wracked with sobs, processor going almost blank with shock. He can't . . he can't believe that his beloved Oil Slick, even broken as he is, could _do_ something like this.

Spindle deals with all the clean up for him, gently herding him into the berth and getting all the energon off of him. The little mech clicks at him disapprovingly, but nuzzles him softly after getting out of his hat and chest wrap, but under his heating blanket. "It vill be okay, meine Optimus. Ve vill be okay."

He tugs the mech close, feeling terrible, "How could Oil Slick do such a terrible thing?"

Spindle nuzzles him, "I do not know, meine Optimus."

The guards come and take the . . take the box away.

He spends a few megacycles being interrogated, and then gets left alone once more with Spindle.

Optimus never dates publicly again.

* * *

His spark pulses quickly, like the very first time he'd ever stolen a kiss. This sol, he is-as an official Minor-going to train his first batch of bootcamp cadets. Primus.

Optimus Minor.

He's so close to a Prime rank now that he can almost taste it, and he's going to be teaching fresh, bright-opticked young bots how to be Autobots.

He is dressed in his very best clothing - in stark contrast to how Kup was when he first met the bot, Kup had made a point of being the dirtiest bot possible, and he is certain he was trying to drive them all away - with Spindle on his shoulder. The weaver is also dressed to the nines, wearing the finest possible clothing since they are _both_ proving a point to the cadets.

He strides in front them, smiling when a few make very jealous sounds. The fact that those are the ones from planets that have clothing will just make what he's offering all the sweeter, and make his cadets work even harder for it.

He plans on going through his hardest obstacle course in his disorienting blindfold, in his best clothing, with Spindle on his shoulder, not get anything damaged, and inform them that they will be able to do the exact same by the time he's finished with them.

He will, of course, be providing them with weaver made clothing.

Eventually. They have to earn it, of course. They'll be starting their lessons every bit as naked as he had, to get them accustomed to the fact that, as Autobots, they would often be required to be nude.

The promise of eventual weaver clothing would hopefully get the clothed bots to willingly accept the temporary nudity. It wasn't like he was asking them to bare their sparks.

Not like his academy class had just required a few stellar cycles ago.

He looks over the six bots he has, and can tell that two of them - a racecar and a cyclebot - are going to be mouthy, but that seems to be about the worst of his troubles. He smiles, and gets started on introductions.

* * *

His spark feels like it is going to burst out of his chamber. "How did this even _happen_?" He wants to slam his servos on the Magnus's desk, but that will do nothing to help, and all he can do is pace in fear. "They should have been _safe_!"

His cadets are missing, and he is more than certain that they were taken by Oil Slick. There is _no other reason_ for why they are gone. He takes Spindle from his shoulder and brings the smaller bot to his arms, stroking the mech in fear.

"Settle down, Optimus Minor," Ultra Magnus says firmly, "your anger is understandable, but you are a Minor now. You must show more decorum, even in the face of tragedy." The bot sighs, relenting a bit, "There has always been a risk that Decepticons might intrude on training excursions to the planets we use for the trials. Normally they avoid them, as they are so deep in Autobot territory, but . . ." He rubs a servo over his optics, "I am truly sorry that this happened to your mechs, Optimus. We have bots searching for your cadets."

He holds Spindle a little tighter, but manages to nod and keep his voice steady, "Yes, sir." He wants nothing more than to be with them. This is his graduating class. he's been with them for vorns and vorns. He should be allowed to look for them, but he can't because Oil Slick may be using them to lure him out in the hope to capture him.

The Magnus sighs softly, "You will be waiting in your apartment. We have you carefully guarded there. You will be notified the very moment we get any information about them. I won't tell you not to worry, but I will tell you to be as calm as you can. Focus your attention on making things."

"I hate to have to say this, Ultra Magnus, sir, but _frag you_. I'm not going to sit in some-"

Ultra Magnus's optics flash, "You will go to your apartment and stay there or you will spend the next several sols in a _cell_, Optimus Minor. This is for your safety and you know the importance of it. He may be using this as a way to distract us from watching you. We will not put one of our best at risk. Not when we have just lost so many."

He twitches, and Spindle makes a a protesting sound, swatting at him. "Stop zat! I am not as strong as you! My armor is not as zick! You vill hurt me!"

He relaxes, petting the bot gently, "Sorry, Spindle." He returns his attention to Ultra, taking a deep in-vent, "I am sorry, sir. I will... I will go to my apartment and..." He offlines his optics, forcing himself to go on, "wait for you to contact me with information."

"Yes. Go." Ultra Magnus offers him a datapad. "You should not blame yourself, Optimus. I know that the loss of cadets can be extremely difficult on a mech. I have lost many of mine to the war. It was both blessing and curse when I attained my Magnus rank and could no longer teach cadets in bootcamp, but I still do the occasional course at the Academy, and I still lose many cadets that are precious to my spark. Some time with your companions in the comfort of your home will help. I speak from experience."

He takes the datapad, putting it in his subspace without looking, and nods. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he leaves the office.

Spindle cuddles close to him, glaring at the office as they leave, "I do not like it vhen you go in zere. It is eizer terrible news, or you being fragged over his desk."

He blushes, "Hush." That is not something he is discussing in such a public place. "We've already been over this."

Spindle glares up at him, "You vill _stop_. You vill never go to him for zat again."

"You are not in control of who I frag or do not frag, Spindle." He looks away, "If we find comfort in each other, you do not have the right to complain about what kind of comfort we manage. You are more than welcome to frag off for a few megacycles if you don't like seeing me talk to him." Optimus would love a bit more time to himself. He's always surrounded by guardbots now.

Spindle makes a hurt sound, "You should find comfort in _me_."

He pats the bot on the head, "You want to hack me so that my protocols go down the very instant we are spark to spark. I'm not going to do that. I may not be primed for sparklings with you yet, but you want me to be filled with them the very moment it is possible. We aren't doing that. I'm past that stage in my life."

Spindle frowns at him, "You are a liarbot. Everyvone vants sparklings."

He sighs softly, transforming and turning on his magnetic field so that the little bot is secure, "I have a career that I am focusing on, Spindle. I want to be an Elite Guard first."

"If you are made an Elite Guard, zey vill turn off your protocols and install new vones zat you cannot control," Spindle hisses. "Zey vill make certain zat you do not spark viz anyvone even if you vant to. Zey do not let new Guard bots start families until zey have served a full five decavorns."

Optimus has known this for a while now. "It will not change my mind, Spindle. I am not going to make myself your clan whorebot."

Spindle hits him ineffectively with glove padded claws, "You vill not be a _whorebot_! Sparking clutches viz us is an _honor_! You vere raised on Haydon IV, and you know zis! Vhy do you insist upon zese lies zat zese Autobots spread? It is an honor to be viz us! I love you, und you keep pushing me avay because you only vant to 'face all zese ozer bots zat only vant you for your spark! I have vanted you since ve vere sparklings und you carried me around on ze snow!"

"You didn't even know me then. I was just a mech carrying you around." Optimus wishes Spindle would stop rewriting the past into some epic, tragic love-affair. He'd carried many weavers around as a sparkling. It was difficult for the tiny bots to make it safely through the snow drifts in winter, and the cities were not sized for their convenience. Weavers often climbed up onto a bot for a ride, whether the bot wanted to offer one to them or not. Optimus had just been more eager than most to carry the little mechs and femmes to their destinations, and he was always happen to drape a warm heating blanket over his trailer hitch legs for them to curl up on or under for warmth.

"I knew zat you vere a kind-sparked bot and zat you vere beautiful and I vent home zat night and told my papas zat I vas going to clutch viz you."

"And you never told me this."

Spindle clicks at him sadly, rubbing his tiny head against him, "You vere promised to Oil Zlick, und ve vere not an influential clan. Ve had to do so much veaving just to get vhere ve are now. I vorked so hard for you, und you just keep pushing me avay. I vant to be viz you alvays, and you just go off fragging every bot zat isn't me. I hate zem so much. I can not attack zem, because you _hide_ zat you 'face zem, but zey flaunt it to me all ze same. Zey know I have not had you, and zey brag. Zey brag in zeir movements.. Every step says zat zey got to touch your spark, but I never vill."

He transforms, depositing Spindle in his arms as he walks to his apartment, "Everyone I am with is very discreet. I choose them for that very reason. You are _not_ discreet. You would strut like a turbopeacock and declare to everyone that we were going to clutch." His spark clenches, and he pets the weaver's back, "And then Oil Slick would kill you."

"He vould not kill me. I am a veaver." Spindle grumbles an acknowledgment, "But he might make me into a pet. A berztoy. I vould not vant a life like zat for myself." The little mech cuddles up against Optimus's side, "I vant to have you forever." The mech looks down, "If ze price of zat is zat I must be quiet about it, zen I can. I am villing to be one of your secrets, meine Optimus. I vill act no different in ze public optic, but in private, ve vill be lovers, ja?"

He steps into the apartment, locking the door behind him, "You already know my answer to that."

The little bot tugs off his gloves, making an unhappy sound, "But it is not fair. I vant you so much. I vant you viz all my spark. I have gone to you completely naked, und you still push me avay. What do you _vant_ from me?"

He sets the bot down, carefully placing his own gloves and boots in the basket by the door, "I don't want anything, Spindle. I told you this. You're the one that wants things from me. I could live with you just going back to Haydon IV and leaving me alone. I don't need you here."

Spindle makes a soft, broken sort of noise, "You do not even value me as a companion? I am _nozing_ to you?" The bot skitters underneath his berth and refuses to come out, strange chirping sounds coming out.

Optimus thinks the mech must be crying. He kneels down, sighing softly to himself, "I didn't mean that, Spindle. I suppose," he wrinkles his faceplates, "that I've become accustomed to your presence. I would miss you if you left. That does not mean that I'm willing to frag you. Not when you'll take it as an invitation to hack me."

Spindle cautiously peeks out, and he can see optical lubricants leaking, "I v-vould not h-hack you. I v-vant... I vant to be vi-viz you."

He pulls the mech into his arms, cleaning the lubricants away, "I still can't say that I will allow us to be in an interfacing relationship, Spindle. You need to accept that. Maybe we can after I am a Prime. I want to be an Elite Guard some sol, and you know this. You want to prime me for sparklings. I just can't take any chances. I'm not with _any_ bots long enough for that to happen."

Spindle slips his leggings off and presses the points of his front peds against the edges of Optimus's sparkplates. "I vant a family, meine Optimus. I know zat you vant vone too. Vhy is being primed for sparklings a bad zing? As long as your protocols are up, you vill never have to vorry. Ve vill only be togezer and happy and ze sparklings vill not come until you are ready for zem."

He puts the little mech on the berth, "I'm still not going to 'face you, Spindle. I'm just not going to be interested in it. Besides, how can you even _think_ of 'facing when our students are in danger? We don't know where they are or what Oil Slick has done to them."

Spindle taps his dainty peds on the berth, "You need to get your processor off of zem. Vhat better vay zen by paying attention to me? I vill be ze best distraction you vill ever know." The little bot cautiously moves against him, reaching up, and dropping his tiny chestwrap to expose his sparkplates, which are partially open, "I vill... I vill vear... I vill vear zis for you?" The wear tugs out a very delicately crafted set of chains, holding them nervously in his claws, "I... I... please?"

"No." It's obvious the mech hates the thought of wearing the chains, and Optimus is not interested in bots less than fully willing. "I'm not going to frag you, Spindle. Not yet." He pushes the chains away gently, "If you truly want me, you will be willing to wait. You will stop pressuring me and allow me the time I need. Can you do that?"

Spindle makes a dismayed little gasp, "But . . zat may take many decavorns. Ze clan vill be out of ze clutching phase by zen and ve vill have to vait anozer million stellar cycles before ve are able to clutch again."

He rubs the little mech's faceplate, picking him up to kiss, "I will promise you this. I will allow you to start to get me prepped for sparklings the very sol I make Elite Guard. You know I will do it, since Ultra Magnus himself has said it. I will be able to, and you won't have to worry."

Spindle clicks at him, worried, "But ze anti-sparkling code-"

He nuzzles the bot, "Won't stop us from the prep. We'd need that long to keep my spark synched, anyway. You'll have just me, and I won't be with anyone but you. I will refuse all others from my berth. I will remain true to you. You won't have to worry about other bots ruining our spark synching just because I went off and decided that I wanted to find out what a bot was like in the berth. You won't have to worry about me straying."

"And zen you vill clutch viz me?" Spindle asks hopefully, petting his sparkplates lightly, bending to wiggle his mandibles against them. It makes his spark pulse against his will. "I vant your vord zat you vill be mine."

Optimus rubs his optics wearily, "I cannot promise that. I can . . I will promise you that if I have not found any other bot to love by then, that I will accept your clan's offer. It will be good for my creators then-"

"Nein," Spindle purrs, nuzzling him affectionately. "I vill tell zem of your promise now, and your creators may vork viz us."

He shakes his head, "It isn't a promise. I'm telling you that I will do this-"

Spindle rubs their plates together, "I vill tell zem, and ve vill be happy. You know it." He's given a kiss, tiny glossa flicking out in the way he's long since grown used to. "I just vish zat you vould play viz my spark. At least vonce."

He frowns, setting the bots on the ground, "You're going to have to get dressed if you're going to contact Haydon IV. They're going to think you look like a whorebot if you don't."

Spindle gasps and rushes off to get a change of clothing.

When Optimus returns to his apartment a stellar cycle later, he drops the boxes of energon sweet making materials in shock, optics flying wide. "Adapter, Brightbeam, you're . . Oh Primus, you're _online_ and you're _here_!" He rushes over to them, wrapping his arms around their large frames. "Primus, are you alright? How did you get here? Are-"

Adapter presses a finger to Optimus's mouth to silence him. "Oil Slick . . returned us. He," the tankbot gestures at his frame, which is larger than it used to be, with thicker armor and most of his gentle curves sharpened into points, "modified us. He changed our frames." The mech turns away, "He changed the others too. He offlined Router, for talking too much, too fast. Checkpoint and Wheelslider were . . modified in other ways. The Decepticons kept them."

Spindle climbs over the bots, clicking in worry, "How could he do zis to you? What has he _done_?"

Brightbeam rubs a claw along the weaver's side, "He made the others smaller. Prettier. They looked much more... delicate. Like they were toys. Added places to put chains on their frames." Optimus's gentle student shifts a tiny bit, "He modified me so that I... I, uh..." the large truckbot looks away, "well, look." His servo shifts into a paddle, and Optimus wants to shake some sense into his former betrothed.

Sighing softly, Optimus pats his student's side, then hugs him, "Are you okay? Are you both okay?"

"As well as can be expected after a stellar cycle of that . . maniac." Brightbeam sighs, shifting his servo back. "He was rather upset when M . . when Megatron took Checkpoint and Wheelslider to his berth. Took us through some space bridges to get us here. Left us in your apartment." Brightbeam places a servo on Optimus's shoulder. "He had no trouble getting past all the security, Optimus. He wanted to make a point that you were not safe from him, should he . . decide he wants you in his arms."

He groans, rubbing his optics, "That isn't good at all." He takes both of their servos, "We need to get you to headquarters and get you reported in. You need to have a debriefing and have your processors scanned. Your scores when you took your tests... were on the very top of the charts, just under my own when I took mine. Along with the rest of..." His spark hurts to say it, but he forces himself to continue, "Along with the rest of the group." It was really amazing, since model types that large rarely made it out of the middle, and Optimus made sure they got on _top_.

He isn't sure if that's because he could focus on them personally since he had a small group or not, but it was more than worth it, just to blow everyone away. He proved he could make _anyone_ a top bot, and it didn't matter what their model type was.

Bots could succeed and survive regardless of their size and model type.

Except when his psychotic ex-lover was involved. Then the pretty models ended up as Decepticon berthslaves, sparkraped until they would-no doubt-be tossed aside like trash. It made his spark ache terribly to know that the bots he had cared for were going to suffer such a fate.

Hopefully his returned mechs would be able to help provide enough information to track down the base where the others were being held. Then they could mount a rescue effort and bring Wheelslider and Checkpoint back.

* * *

**Please Review**


	14. Chapter 14

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

He leans against the wall, holding Spindle in his arms. "Do you really think I can do this?"

The little bot nuzzles him, "Adapter and Brightbeam boz agree zat you should do zis. Zis group vill be under heavier guard, and zey zink you vere vonderful at teaching zem, ja? Zey said zat you are ze only reason zey even cam back to Cybertron. How disappointing vould it be if zey did, and you vere not teaching anozer group? You can do zis. I know you can. Nozing bad vill happen to zem. Ve vill keep zem safe."

He looks at the group, it is filled with bots that are very... small. Delicate and pretty. Not a single large one to be found. He is terrified that it makes it easier for Oil Slick to bot nap them later on and he can't keep them safe. "I don't know. I just..."

"You already said zat you vould. You can not back out now. You vill do zis."

"Yes." Optimus sighs, and then steps in front of his group of new recruits, trying to look as imposing and professional as possible. "Welcome to Autobot bootcamp. Each and every one of you has been told of what happened to the last group of bots that I trained, and you have still chosen me as your instructor. I must conclude that you are either mentally unhinged, or that you believe I have something to teach you that the other Minors and Sergeants do not." Optimus gives them a hint of a smile, "I am going to hope it is the latter."

Three of the bots - a very pretty blue racecar, a lithe cyclebot, and a compact SUV - all burst into excited chatter making him rub his optics. Spindle sighs softly, "I zink zat is enough. You vill be seeing our demonstration in a moment, ja?" There's another outburst of hatter and the cyclebot hops up and down in excitement. "Zat vas not actually a question. Calm down or ve vill set you on laps."

Optimus can tell that they don't think that's the threat that it really is. "Laps around the entire campus."

The blue racecar's optics widen, "But-sir!-That's-almost-an-entire-"

He smiles, "Exactly. You don't want to do laps. But by the end of this, that will be absolutely nothing. If Adapter and Brightbeam want to join us later on in their free time, you can see what I mean."

The bots nod, even if they don't truly understand.

Optimus taps his fingers against his forearm, and arches an optic ridge, "Before we begin, I would like to outline a few rules that I have which other bootcamp instructors do not. You will spend half of your time clothed during your training _and_ your leave time, unless your planet holds a taboo against clothing, in which case you are not required to wear the clothing if you return home for a visit. The other half, you will be as naked as most Cybertronians are. It is important to learn to survive in both modes." He tips his head, "If you keep weaver pornography, it is best that you hide it, or that you keep it off base. Spindle is not fond of it, and neither am I."

Spindle mutters angrily, peds clicking mutely against his arms, "Zey shouldn't have it at all. I am not here for zeir sparks."

He pets the weaver gently to soothe him and continues, "You will be expected to work hard. You will be training more than any other group. You were warned that this would happened, and that you were allowed to drop out before you joined. If you didn't want to be here, then you shouldn't have come. I know of plenty of other instructors that would have happily taken the ones that _had_ to come and were not here voluntarily. I want you here because you want to be here. If you are only here because you think this will be the easiest way to get weaver made clothing, then I want you to leave now."

He watches as a few of the bots shift a little bit, then steel themselves angrily. He knows that for the ones that are genuinely here for the weaver made clothing, that this _is_ the easiest way to get it. He's going to get it to them in the shortest time possible, but that doesn't mean they're not going to work for it. He imagines they're going to hate him by the end of this.

But it will be a good kind of hate. A healthy dislike of him because he's challenged them and forced them to become better. The kind of hate where they'll curse his name for a few decavorns and then send him quiet thank you messages when his training saves their afts some distant sol from now.

He hopes this batch won't get botnapped during their final test, or during any of their training missions. They'll be far more careful this time. More guards. Many more guards, and planets closer to Cybertron as training grounds.

He smiles at them, "Now then, let's get started, shall we?" He pulls out his disorienting blindfold and slips it on. He has a obstacle course to run.

* * *

Optimus's spark sinks low in it's chamber. He wonders if he should have _expected_ this to happen. Even though it really shouldn't have happened. His group were _on Cybertron_ for the test.

He stares balefully at Ultra Magnus, holding Spindle in his arms, "You promised me this wouldn't happen, sir. That was one of the requirements of me even taking this group."

His leader paces back and forth in front of him, giving him a harried look, "I know, Optimus."

"I asked you for bots that were large and wouldn't be seen as berthbots and wouldn't be modified to be sparkslaves, sir. You ignored me, and gave me racecars, cyclebots, an SUV, and-"

"I _know_, Optimus Minor. _I know_."

"They're _offline_ by now, sir," Optimus says, his voice sharp and tight with emotion. "Router was offlined because he couldn't stay quiet. You allowed _three_ recruits into my group that have a problem with excessive talking. They're offline now. Oil Slick has never liked bots that rambled on, and now that he's . . the way he is, they're-" He stops and looks away. "I have hope for the others. They're undoubtedly being modified into sparkslaves, but we might find them some sol, hopefully before they have given up on us."

"You don't know that. We can't give up hope that they're all fi-"

He stands up, "I'm going back to my apartment, _sir_. Com me if you get any information about them. I have to contact their creators and tell them that the inevitable happened. I asked you not to do this, and you ignored me. Please don't expect me to take another group to train after this." He rubs Spindle's back, "If you try to force me, I may just retire."

Spindle's optics widen, and his tiny claws hide his mouth to keep from saying anything while Ultra Magnus calls out, "Optimus!"

He steps out, closing the door behind him and transforming to take off before the Magnus can order him to stay. Swindle clings to him, asking into his audio, "You vill quit?"

He sighs, "If he forces me to take another group of cadets? Yes. I don't think I can deal with the sparkbreak. They're all going to be offline or in some Decepticon's berth. Can _you_ deal with the loss?"

"Nein," Spindle says softly, stroking his armor with one tiny servo. "I could not, meine Optimus. Zey are just as precious to me as zey are to you. Especially ze ones zat give me energon sveets. Ze blue one."

"Blurr." Optimus wishes Spindle would bother to learn their names. They aren't hard. He knows the bot must know, but chooses not to use them. "Blurr is going to," he can't think about it. Blurr has to be offline now, unless he was lucky enough to catch the optic of another Decepticon when Oil Slick botnapped him. He hates that he _hopes_ that Blurr is being sparkraped rather than simply offline.

Spindle nuzzles him, vocal processor glitchy, "Maybe his end vas qvick. Ve... ve.." He can feel optical lubricants on his armor, "Ve must be strong, meine Optimus. It does us no good to vorry so much. Ve vill carry on like ve did before. Hope for ze best."

He transforms back, needing to be able to _hold_ Spindle, and starts to walk. He gently wipes away the optical lubricants, "If we are lucky, they will be returned to us, safe and sound."

"If ve are lucky," Spindle repeats, holding on to his servos. "I vant to . . vill you just hold me tonight, vhile ve recharge? I do not vant to curl up in ze corner like I often do. I vant to feel your varmth, so I can know zat you are zere wiz me." He brushes a kiss against Optimus's cheek, "Ve vill be strong togezer, meine Optimus. Ve vill not lose our hope, ja?"

"We won't," he promises, even though his spark is dark with despair.

* * *

A stellar cycle passes, and Optimus's spark breaks when the cadets are not returned to him.

He spends the sol getting overenergized, sobbing in the privacy of his room into a cube of highgrade.

When he onlines the next morning, there are six cadets sitting on the floor in his living room.

He blinks at them all, then rubs his optics. He is then tackled by an over-enthusiastic cyclebot he had kind of hoped to never see again. "Optimus!" Oil Slick knocks Spindle onto the floor accidentally, but takes Optimus with, pressing kisses over his frame. "I missed you so much!' The bot straddles his hips, nuzzling and kissing him, "I managed to make sure that none of them were found by Lord Megatron this time!" He's kissed again, glossa licking his lips, and the mech rubbing his bare chestplates against his chestwrap. "I love you so much."

He pushes the mech off, "Primus, my head hurts." He rubs his optics, and suddenly he has a mouth full of... something and he's drinking. Making his head not hurt.

"Processor ache cure! I made it myself! I also have some for Spindle!" The tiny flask is placed in the weaver's mouth and forced in, making Spindle drink. "There!" Oil Slick climbs into his lap, rubbing his helmet under his hat, voice low and seductive, "I _really_ missed you, Optimus. Let's go to the berthroom. I have all sorts of mods I know you're going to love. You can put an unmodified inhibitor in me, remember? I can take an entire sol of you just using me over and over." His hat is pushed off, headfins exposed, "I would love that."

"Frag off," he growls at Oil Slick, his spark twinging with pain. Part of him wants nothing more than to pull Oil Slick into his arms and comfort the bot, keep him safe and warm and protect him from himself. Mend his broken processor.

The rest of him knows he can't have that. No matter how much he wants it.

Oil Slick's optics flash with heat, "Are we doing some role-reversal this sol, Optimus?" The mech tickles his sparkplates, "I'm more than willing to chain _you_ down just this once. Especially if you're going to try and keep your spark from me."

He sighs softly, reaching into his subspace, "I'm not interested in 'facing you, Oil Slick."

He starts to pull out a stasis-cuff only for Oil Slick to push it back into his subspace - the exact reason why you aren't supposed to 'face Decepticons, it makes it possible for that lover to actually take things from your subspace without any discomfort to you. "Of course you are, beloved. You're _always_ interested. You get all hot at the idea of me in chains under you." The mech nuzzles his chest, optics dim, "Of me all helpless and writhing for you."

Optimus twitches, feeling his spark break. "I do love you in chains. Why don't you let me chain you up in the berthroom? We can play there."

Oil Slick narrows his optics, "You want me to be captured by your Autobots, don't you?" The mech smiles again, "It won't happen. They're-" there's a pounding at the door, and he hisses, "Which of you commed the guards?"

Spindle hisses back at him, "Optimus does not deserve to be treated zis vay."

Oil Slick hisses wordlessly, and disappears, most likely into the ceiling. The door gets broken in, and guards pour in, looking through everything. Optimus sighs, getting ready to give a statement on everything that happened.

It is going to be a very long sol.

* * *

He wishes he knew why he was doing this.

He _really_ wishes he knew why he was doing this.

He stands in front of his third group of cadets, pacing back and fourth, "You _are_ going to be botnapped at the end of your time with me. I don't know if you're going to make it back to me or not. Last time it happened, my entire group made it back unharmed. Before that, only two. I can not promise what will happen to you. You all know what you signed up for when you agreed to join my group. You talked to my previous cadets, you know _exactly_ what they did. If you want to back out now, no one will look down on you."

One of the three minibots in the group steps forward, looking terribly determined, crossing his green arms over his chest, "We knew what we were getting ourselves into when we signed up. You train the best bots. It's the riskiest, but if we want to be the best, we train with the best, and that's _you_."

Optimus isn't sure how well a _minibot_ is going to do when captured by Decepticons. It is _well-known_ what kinds of things Decepticons do to the tiny bots. They believe Autobots are meant to be berthtoys because they are smaller and have blue optics. The minibots get the worst of that.

His group is twice the size it has been before; twelve bots stand in front of him, and he's glad to see several of them are large framed. He's certain that _they_ will be back with him by the end of graduation, even if it hurts his spark to think of it that way.

He'll deal with this class as it comes.

* * *

He stares at Ultra across the desk blankly, Spindle in his lap. The mech shifts nervously, "We'll... we'll contact you as... as soon as we have any information."

He continues to stare at the bot, petting Spindle. After a long silence, that he's certain is very uncomfortable on his leader's end, he says, "And you want me to wait in my apartment for a stellar cycle again."

"Yes." Ultra sighs wearily, leaning forward to rest his helm in his hands for a moment, before straightening once more. "If it goes as it has the last two times, he will return the bots to you within a stellar cycle or so. We . . have deep reservations about allowing you to teach any more classes, Optimus."

Optimus nods, "I was about to inform you that I will not be teaching any more recruits. This batch was the last. I do not care if they all come to me unharmed and better for the experience. I cannot. . . I cannot handle this loss each time. I cannot deal with never knowing if they will survive or not at the servos of Oil Slick."

The Magnus nods, looking broken, "I understand. You go ahead and head to your apartment."

He stands up, "Yes, sir." He carefully carries Spindle out of the room, holding the little bot gently, and murmuring. "I think that after we find out what happens to them, we are going to take a break. Away from here. On a different planet."

Spindle curls up against him, "Haydon IV?"

He shakes his head, "Do you want to deal with your clan asking you why you haven't prepped me for sparklings yet? I know that I don't. Let's go to another planet. Just to .. get away."

"Maybe someplace varm?" Spindle offers hesitantly, aware that his offer means that the mech will either have to suffer through the heat or strip down a bit. Even after all these vorns, Spindle finds shedding so much as a single legging or hat to be extremely distasteful in public. He's a conservative little bot when it comes to clothing.

Not that Optimus can blame him for that. The clothing keeps bots from touching Spindle's armor, the way they might try to if he were bared to their servos.

He rubs the mech's back, "I was thinking of a planet that was clothing required, actually. If a little less conservative than Haydon IV. We'd look a little overdressed, but no one would mind you wearing what you are in. I just want to get away."

Spindle gives him a tiny smile. "I vould like zat, ja. Ve can plan our vacation vhile ve are stuck in ze apartment."

He transforms, carefully magnetizing his armor to keep the little bot safe, "Good. We'll do that."

Spindle purrs, rolling around on top of him, breaking the magnetic bonds and then allowing them to stick to him again. He's used to weavers acting strangely while he's driving. "You make meine spark hot," the bot says, and then sighs, "you vill be Elite soon, ja?"

Optimus scoffs, "I am on the fast track to it, and I am _still_ very far from that rank, Spindle. I have to become a Prime first."

"Nein. Many Elites are not so high as Primes," Spindle objects, tapping on his armor thoughtfully.

"Those bots are in different career paths. The path I'm in, for officer rank, requires that I obtain a Prime rank first."

Spindle cuddles against him, "You should be a Prime already. I vill talk to ze Magnus. He should not be keeping you back. It is time for you to be a Prime so zat ve can have sparklings." He can feel the bot rub his cloth covered plates rub against his armor, "You have been on ze fast track for decavorns. I zink zat he is holding you back so zat he can push you on ze desk an use your spark. I do not like it."

He barks a laugh, "If he was doing this to keep me on his desk, he'd be trying to make me go _faster_. If I was a Prime, I'd have to spend more time around him. As a Minor, I need to spend more time out of the office."

"Excuses," Spindle mutters, licking his armor. "You taste vonderful. I vish you vould let me . . nein. I vill not beg again. You do not like it vhen I beg."

On the contrary, Optimus _loves_ when bots beg him for things in the berth. He doesn't like bots demanding that they be fragged hard, or that he interface when he's really not in the mood. He hates constant whining and pleading.

* * *

It is about half a stellar cycle later that he onlines to a minibot in his berth. A minibot he recognizes instantly as one of his cadets. "Cliffjumper!" He takes off the mouthclamp from the little bot's mouth, and removes the various restraints. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He rubs the minibot's back as he as he carries the bot out, Spindle calling for the guards while Cliffjumper talks, "The others... They're all with the Decepticons, sir. Shockwave was studying the footage, and found them. I was with Lockdown, and that's the only reason I wasn't with them. All the rest were claimed as berthbots."

Optimus's spark nearly breaks at that, and he pulls Cliffjumper closer to him, "I am so sorry you had to go through that. I-"

"It wasn't so bad," Cliffjumper says, but it's clear he's lying, just trying to make Optimus feel better. "Fragging hate that bounty hunter, though. Spent most of my fragging time on his ship." The bot growls, "Fragger was awful. Kept stuffing my mouth full of whatever he had nearby. He made me fragging suck on steel pipes. Fragger."

Optimus makes a hurt sound, low in his throat, "Are your dente okay?" That sort of thing can damage a bot if done for extended periods, and he doesn't want his most ... violent student to be taking damage like that.

The minibot opens his mouth, showing razor sharp and pointed dente, "Oil Slick modded me so that I can't be hurt like that. Not after I showed I liked to _bite_, even while drugged up so hard I didn't even know my name. I broke a lot of the mouth clamps. It was kind of lucky that Lockdown _liked_ it, even if..." Optimus can see now that there's a spot on the right side of Cliffjumper's mouth, just the size that Lockdown's thumb has been described, so the mouth can be forced to stay open.

He hugs Cliffjumper carefully, rubbing his back, "We'll fix it so that you won't have that."

"It's a low-priority repair," the minibot says, shrugging out of his arms. "I'm fine, Optimus. Better than the rest. I'm not one of Shockwave's fragging mindless pets, and I'm not servicing Decepticon spark. Frag, Lockdown didn't even like having his spark touched much. Pretty much stuck to the spike thing the entire time."

"It's important to get repairs after trauma," Optimus objects quietly. "Healing the frame is the first step to healing the processor, and we-"

"I'm not fragging broken. I don't need therapy. I'm fine," the minibot says defensively, hunching in on himself in a way that belies his words.

He gives Cliffjumper a cube of energon, knowing it won't be as good as anything that Oil Slick was fueling him on, and rubs his back soothingly, "We'll still fix your frame, Cliffjumper. You're going to get fixed. Is there anything you'd like to have?"

He can feel the minibot shake in his lap. "No. I'm fine, sir."

Spindle climbs into the bot's lap, cuddling close, "I zink... You need new clozing, Cliffjumper. You vill be coming on vacation viz us. As soon as you are fixed, you vill be coming viz us."

The minibot blinks, confused, "V-vacation? Sirs? What?"

Optimus casts a strange look at Spindle. He's not sure he wants the minibot along with them. As much as he likes Cliffjumper, the mech was one of the worst and most vocal about his dislike for clothing. He'd joined to be the best, and had firmly _rejected_ the wrap that Spindle had offered him right before graduation.

They'd made him wear it anyway, but they had found it discarded in one of the dressing rooms after the ceremony was over.

He puts a servo on Cliffjumper's shoulder, "It will be at a clothing required planet. If you don't want to come, you don't have to. Spindle doesn't understand your reluctance to wear clothing. You are more than welcome to spend your time recovering wherever you feel most comfortable."

The minibot shudders. "If it is all the same to you, sir. I'll just... stay on Cybertron. I _like_ Cybertron. I like it a very great deal."

Spindle huffs softly, "I still do not know vhy you do not like ze clozing I made you. You looked so dashing in it. You vere so _proper_ viz it on. You can vear it, and not have any damage at all!"

Cliffjumper makes a face, "But I do _even better_ if I don't wear it at all."

"You are a shameless hussy," Spindle huffs, turning his back on the minibot. Optimus thinks that's a rather harsh thing to say to a mech who has just been assaulted and abused for half a stellar cycle, but then Cliffjumper makes a rude noise at the weaver.

"Yeah, well, I've seen better cloaks made by a fumble-servoed glitchhead."

Optimus hides his smile, knowing that Cliffjumper is on his way to recovery.

* * *

Dendron Beta is fairly cold, but not half as cold at Haydon IV was in winter. Optimus smiles as he watches Blurr, Brightbeam, and Crowbar all crowd together to try to warm up. Spindle tilts his head, watching them in amusement. "Zey are very silly, aren't zey?"

He rubs a finger along the weaver's side, "They just aren't used to it. We gave them warmer clothing. We'll be able to to help them with it later on."

"Zey claim to be so tough, and a little mild chill like zis one has zem huddled togezer like little sparklings vizout zeir cloaks." Spindle purrs, leaning in to Optimus's touches. "Ze traditional vay to varm up is an interface, ja? Ve could let zem go entertain each ozer, and zen get some alone time for ourselves. You know you are being promoted to ze Prime rank in just a stellar cycle, meine Optimus."

He scoffs, "I still have to pass my final exams, Spindle, and they aren't _easy_ tests."

Spindle nibbles on his fingertips, gloved claws holding his servos in place, "Ve could celebrate early? I vould like you to have me on ze berz. We have our own room, you know. Just ze two of us. We are not sharing viz zem. Zey already zink zat ve-"

He shakes his head, "No. I'm not going to hurry it along just because you think I should. We're going to do this properly. I want to do this how it should be." He kisses Spindle's forehead, smiling, "Besides, I stopped 'facing other bots awhile ago. In preparation for this."

"Good." Spindle shyly leans up and murmurs in his audio, "I vill let you play viz my antennae in ze berz. Zey are very sensitive. I can stimulate myself to an overload vizout touching my spark zat vay. It is a good vay to get my spark hot for you."

Optimus knows he won't have much trouble getting Spindle hotsparked for him. The little mech is so eager to spark a family with him, it's almost laughable, if the mech were not so very serious about it all.

He rubs Spindle's exposed neck, "Should we tell them we have the rooms ready?"

The weaver watches as their former students shriek about having the snow thrown at them, and shakes his head, "Nein. I zink zey are having fun, ja?"

He nods, smiling as Blurr starts to pummel the other two with snowballs, "It looks like it. They're going to have to have a change of clothing when they get in, and be happy that we are expanding their subspaces here." It is far cheaper to give them a expanded subspace on a clothing required planet than on one that doesn't, so Optimus was glad to bring the bots that had wanted to come on vacation. There are far more than just the three out here, but they are out shopping in the various stores.

When he gets back from his vacation, he'll be taking his Prime exams and getting promoted-hopefully. If not, it's back to studying for another vorn or two before they'll let him try again. He knows the final test is a diplomatic one, shrouded in mystery, never told to any Minor before they are forced to face it.

He hopes it isn't too difficult for him to pass.

"Let's go inside and get them some heated energon prepared," Optimus murmurs, kissing the weaver's head, right on top of his hat. "I think they'll like that."

Spindle chirrups, nuzzling him happily, "I do, too."

* * *

**Please Review**


	15. Chapter 15

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

He looks at the door, then over to Ultra Magnus, "Really, sir?" He's supposed to go into the room and meet _another_ hologram of Megatron. Only this time he's not supposed to fight him, he's supposed to negotiate his way to the end of the war.

The Magnus nods, "Yes. Whenever you're ready. Take all the time you need. There is no hurry."

He wishes they hadn't taken his weapons.

He has to face a tangible hologram program that has as much of Megatron's personality and quirks coded into it as Perceptor and the others have been capable of making it. In other words, it's essentially identical. And he has to face it without any weapons at all.

Optimus swallows hard and steels himself, stepping into the room. Dallying around outside won't do him any good. Inside, the holographic room is very well detailed, made up to look like a very lush, ornate senate room, but instead of seats all around, there is only a single table in the middle of the room. A table where Megatron's massive frame is waiting.

The hologram's optics watch him hungrily, and he carefully sits on the chair across from it. He's very grateful that he was allowed to wear whatever he wanted for this. He chose to wear his finest outfit. One that Spindle made for him, that even had leg and arm wraps laced up him. It was worn in preperation of the fact that he was going to be wanting to look _nice_ for what he was planning on doing, but now it will keep the false Megatron from seeing his clear chestplate.

He carefully picks up the datapad, glancing through it before saying, "Lord Megatron."

The hologram smiles, "Diplomat Optimus."

He hides the shudder that the roaming optics send down his backstrut, and he taps thoughtfully on the datapad before giving Megatron his full attention. "You know why we have agreed to meet this sol. We are here to work out a peaceful treaty to end the conflict between our factions."

"Yes," Megatron agrees, smiling like a cybercat stalking its prey. "I would very much like to discuss a treaty with you, Diplomat Optimus, but you are beginning our negotiations on bad footing. You sit so far from me, as if you find my presence distasteful. Come closer."

He keeps from shuddering, "I think it would be best if we start discussing what is going on first. If we reach a few things, I am more than willing to get closer to you."

Megatron hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping the table, "Very well, but I expect... compensation."

This is not going to be fun.

* * *

Optimus gathers up his clothing from the floor, carefully putting it back on as he goes. He laces up his boots, ignoring the knocking at the door, and hums a song he remembers from his sparklinghood; a jaunty tune that Papa Steelbolt used to sing to him when he got a very good deal out of the bots for bad lace being paid for labor when they didn't have to do anything.

He feels a little bit filthy, but also extremely satisfied. He's sure he'll pass the test with what he managed to get out of Megatron. Optimus laces up his gloves, and then fits his cloak back into place with his cloak pin, finally going to exit the room. The bots outside stare at him, and he suddenly feels nervous.

Was there a test within this test? He knows it's designed to tell what a bot will do to win peace; what he's willing to sacrifice for peace for all Cybertronians. But he suddenly is unsure if his offer was deemed un-Autobot.

"You," Ultra Magnus in-vents sharply, "you convinced the Megatron program to sign a peace treaty for the price of basic trade agreements, sharing of the Allspark should it be found, and _your spark_?"

He forces himself to relax, dusting his clothing off, "Of course. Why wouldn't he? I'm absolutely certain that, had I been on the Decepticon side and the hologram been you, I would have gotten the exact same deal. You like my spark just as much." He smiles, deciding to go _all the way_ since he won't get in more trouble, "You pushed me over your desk enough times to prove that true."

The Magnus gives him a sharp look, then carefully hands him a datapad, "Normally, we don't give you your grade until much later, but your's was... incredibly easy to know how you did." The bot gives him a look that he can't read, and says, "Congratulations, Optimus Prime."

Optimus smiles widely, and then frowns, "Could you hold off on the public announcement for a sol?"

Ultra Magnus nods cautiously, "We can, if you have a legitimate reason why you need us to."

He feels a faint flush rushing to his cheeks, the same flush he'd had when the Megatron hologram had licked his sparkplates, murmuring about blue being his favorite color of chest glass. "I need to visit the medic for protocol updates. Mine are a bit out of date at this point, and I'm going to need them upgraded before I celebrate my new rank."

"You haven't been keeping them up to date?"

He shakes his head, "I had to worry about Spindle. Now that I have this, I don't. I just have to get my protocols updated and we'll be having our sparks starting to get synched for sparklings." And he doesn't have to worry about his lover going insane this time.

Ultra gives him a worried look, "Are you sure? You aren't planning on-"

"I will be clutching with him and the Skyline clan eventually, yes. Don't worry, it won't interrupt anything. Remember, weavers have a special time to clutch, and that won't be for awhile. It is fine for now. You have nothing to worry about."

He fails to mention that the Skyline time to clutch _ends_ in a while, and that they are all _currently_ very capable of filling him with dozens of sparklings. That is something that will just make Ultra Magnus worry without reason. It's not like they're going to botnap him and force him to spark with them. Weavers only do that if they're desperate for sparklings-if their clan has just suffered a massive loss of life and their self-preservation protocols get kicked online, forcing them to breed with many bots.

They don't have to worry about that, being safe on Haydon IV.

The Magnus gives him an upset look, but nods, "We can delay your official announcement to along with everyone else. Go ahead and stop by a medic before you return to your apartment or wherever else you are going to celebrate."

Optimus smiles, bowing slightly at his leader, "Thank you, sir. I'll go do that." He walks out, knowing that the mech wishes he isn't wearing a cloak so he can stare at his aft, but Optimus has long since stopped fragging Ultra stellar cycles ago.

He's promised himself to Spindle now, and he may as well enjoy it.

* * *

This sol is one of the worst of his entire life. He's . . . Optimus had made a terrible mistake that had led to the offlining of Elita-1, and his official punishment had just come down from the council.

Exile.

He is to be sent to the distant reaches of the universe to work on repairing long unused space bridges. The council had expressed disdain over his punishment, some seeing it as too harsh, others as not enough. He was an Elite Guard now, but only Ultra Magnus's direct interference in the procedings had stopped them from stripping his rank from him. Optimus would retrain his Prime rank, and his Elite wings, but he would not be allowed to so much as visit Cybertron or any Autobot-controlled world without direct orders from the council.

"I know it is hard, Optimus," Ultra says, putting a servo on his bare shoulder - him not having been allowed to wear anything in front of the council, "But yo-"

Spindle hisses angrily, swiping at the Magnus, "Do not touch him! You have exiled him! You fondle him as if you have _any_ right you touch meine Optimus!" The little weaver pulls out a spare set of clothing and sets to dress him now that he's finally available, "You vill not touch him!"

Ultra sighs, letting his arm drop, "I know it is hard, but you have your rank. I managed to pull a few more strings, and I got you a crew-"

Optimus stiffens, "Sir! I don't think that would be a goo-"

"They'll be perfectly safe. Oil Slick won't be able to find them. Your location will be top secret. No one will know where you are at all. Any packages to you will be routed and re-routed through autobot headquarters repeatedly before ever getting to you." The Magnus offlines his optics, "You and your crew will be completely safe."

"And completely isolated. Do we even have authority to take leave on nearby neutral planets?" Optimus asks, stroking Spindle's back reflexively, the motion calming them both.

Ultra Magnus sighs, "You have a list of planets which you may take leave time on. They are the few we can trust have not been infiltrated by Decepticon spies due to their very strict dress codes and entry policies. We would prefer that _you_ stay on your ship, Optimus, or on the asteroids where you will be repairing the space bridges."

He raises his arms to allow Spindle to put his chest wrap on him and to hide his twitch, "I would like to be allowed to stretch my treads on a planet every so often, sir."

The Magnus sighs softly, "We... we can not stop you from going on planet. It would just be _safer_ if you would not. Keep contact to a minimum, and do what you must. I know you will be the best at what you do, no matter what, Optimus." The mech stops their walking in front of a large door, pausing to let Optimus put on his boots. "Would you like to see your ship?"

"Yes, sir," Optimus says as respectfully as he can manage after everything that has happened, and he gets guided inside Ultra Magnus touches his shoulder, wishes him luck, and leaves.

The ship is . . a bit of a rustbucket.

His crew is . . well, at least none of them are so painfully pretty that they'll be snatched up as berthwarmers the instant that they get captured by a Decepticon. He'll have to warn the minibot about Shockwave, but he's aware that all minibots in the army are given warnings about Shockwave.

He wonders if he can ask for an extra sol, just so that his former students can _talk_ to this crew. Give them all a personal warning about what could happen to them if Oil Slick finds them. How painful it will be when he loses them all.

His spark hurts to think about it.

* * *

Optimus is having an increasingly bad sol.

First they find the Allspark, and then they have Deceptions following them. And now... he deals with ... this. "Optimus Prime. You mean they still let you command other Autobots?"

He had thought that seeing his old friend would be less like grit against his protoform. He pets Spindle on his shoulder, saying, "Don't start, Sentinel. Just put me through to Ultra Magnus."

Sentinel is as smug as ever, "Now how could a third-rate rock buster possibly rate the Autobot supreme commander's attention?"

Spindle hisses "Vhy you-!"

Optimus puts a finger on his lover's mandibles, "Display cargo hold visual."

Sentinel looks shocked, the mech was always much more well versed in fertility symbols than Optimus ever was, "I, uh, I'll... put you through right away."

"Ultra Magnus here, Optimus" the bot says as his visual flickers onto the screen. "We're tracking your Decepticon signal. Probably just a lost scout ship. Ever since we drove them off Cybertron, the 'Cons have been wandering the periphery. They'd never be so foolish as to invade Autobot space. Still, I'm sending out a strike force to intercept if necessary. Meantime, you and your bots just sit tight. And Prime, don't do something foolish and put your lives on the line. This scout ship won't be a hologram, and I hope to see you back on Cybertron some sol." The screen flickers off.

"Decepticons still on tail and closing in fast," Prowl informs him, and Optimus knows his sol just went from bad to worse.

Bee asks why they can't see the Decepticon ship, and Optimus worries-either it's cloaked, or . . he doesn't want to think of the alternative. That it is so large they haven't noticed it yet. Or that it's directly on top of them.

When they see it, his spark sinks, and he has to rub Spindle's side to calm the weaver's cursing. He worries for his team. He doesn't want anyone hurt, and he's almost certain that they are all going to be hurt. He couldn't train Bulkhead and Bumblebee like he wanted to here, and Ratchet would have refused by giving him excuses about being an _old bot_. The only one that would have, would be Prowl, and Prowl would have tried to get into his berth.

Prowl has tried to get into his berth.

Multiple times.

The only reason the cyclebot stopped was because Spindle is not the least bit opposed to trying to take out optics from mechs that try to sneak in during the middle of the night.

Spindle chitters nervously, moving from one shoulder to the other. "Zat is . . Zat . . "

"Megatron," Ratchet whispers, and Spindle shrieks with dismay.

"Nein! It cannot be. Ve cannot be about to fight ze Decepticon leader in zis puny awful tiny ship!" Spindle crawls up under Optimus's hat and hides himself there, curling his frame up into a compact little bundle. "Tell me vhen it is safe to come out, meine Optimus."

He takes control of the mechanical arms, throwing out commands to his crew, to keep everything safe. He isn't sure how, but Megatron ends up _exploding_ when he thinks he's about to throw the bot off the top of the ship, throwing them into disarray. He forces the ship into manual mode, and they end up going through the spacebridge, to a place he doesn't know where they are. "Prowl, Ratchet, Spindle, everyone alright?" He adjusts his hat to make sure Spindle isn't damaged, and hits the com system button, "Bulkhead, Bumblebee, report."

He's grabbed roughly by the shoulder and shoved against something, suddenly held by the throat, hat off. Megatron leaning close, "The Allspark. Where is it?" The mech is attacked by Prowl, but it is futile, since the bot pins the cyclebot under a ped and shoves him against a different wall, "I grow impatient, little bot." The bot rubs a finger along his side, tugging at his chestwrap, "Tell me."

He doesn't even think about it, he moves his arm, shooting his grapple, and hits the lever. The computer's voice saying neutrally, "Artificial gravity, disabled."

They float up. Optimus using his leverage against the wall to kick Megatron away from him. Ratchet congratulates him for his strategy, and magnetizes himself to the hull. Megatron digs what remains of his right arm into a damaged slot in the ship's plating, his expression increasingly irritated. It does not help when Bumblebee comes drifting in, and Bulkhead knocks him forward, straight into Megatron's frame.

"Know what?" the minibot asked, tempting fate, making Optimus's spark quiver with fear, "You're even uglier from this angle."

Megatron's optics narrow and he growls lightly with something like disgust, pulling a sword free, swinging it at Bumblebee's frame.

He ignores Bumblebee's quip, and looks around. He spots Spindle carefully hiding under his knocked off hat under a solid counter that keeps his lover safe from all attacks, "Everyone in position for a concentrated attack on my signal."

Of course, that doesn't go for plan.

"Prowl, no! Wait for my signal!" He reaches to grab the cyclebot as he jumps past, but gets only air, which he really should have expected. Fragging ninjabot and his hologram.

The bot manages to get a good hit in to the damaged arm of Megatron, and he congratulates the mech, and asks them to give him some sort of warning. Which, of course, means that Ratchet yells, "Incoming!" and throws a chunk of metal at Megatron, making the large bot land on the lever for the gravity, and everyone fall heavily on the floor. The engine engages suddenly, and the ship rockets towards the nearby planet, the sudden movement sending them all hurtling against the walls. Optimus has the misfortune of being hurtled straight back into the cargo bay.

He crashes into some of the cargo boxes, filled with their tools and with the occasional valuable element they have extracted during their bridge repairs. Optimus groans in pain, trying to get up, only to have a massive ped slam down on his chest, pinning him to the floor.

"Now bring me the Allspark, and I _may_ spare your miserable Autobot lives," Megatron commands him, Optimus hating how the rich, deep voice makes his spark give a brief pulse. The Decepticons optics glow a brighter red for a moment, and the mech's sharp ped claws shift on his chest, ripping through his chest wrap like it was made of organic paper, revealing some of his chest glass. "Blue," the mech murmurs, "my favorite."

It seems that the hologram really _was_ incredibly close to how Megatron really is. Right down to what color he preferred the chestplates of his truckbot model lovers. Optimus had researched the Decepticon leader later, and it seemed that his model type and seekers were what got Megatron revved the hardest. Which made his negotigation technique insanely effective.

He was rather surprised that the others of his model type hadn't done it, really, but it seemed that most of the bots forgot that seduction was also taught as a technique for getting what you want. It was just mostly ignored in favor of other things, since it so rarely worked in their line of work.

There's a glow behind them, and Megatron gets distracted; it is the Allspark. Optimus manages to deploy the handle of his axe so that it hits the emergency open button of the door, forcing Megatron off-balance.

They both fly toward the docking tunnel, pressure sucking them out, but Optimus manages to dig his axe into the side of the tunnel, kicking Megatron's servo away when the mech grabs for him.

Battle damaged, his armor stripped by the explosion, Megatron's frame looks like it is burning as it falls through the atmosphere, towards the planet below. The Allspark is safe now, but Optimus has more things to worry about as the ship crashes towards the earth,

"Everyone to the stasis pods," Optimus orders, striding back into the ship's main command deck, watching as his bots move towards them.

"What about you?" Bumblebee asks, worried for him.

"Not until I've steered us clear of this populated sector," he says, grunting as he tugs on the controls, trying to fly the damaged ship so it won't crash and offline any bots that may be living in the city below them.

When he manages to get over the large solvent lake, he scoops up Spindle, and rubs his little love's back. The weaver makes upset chirruping sounds, curling against his neck, "He cut up your clozing, meine Optimus."

"It is my work outfit, Spindle. Could have been worse." He closes the pod, laying against the back, and offlines his optics. He hates going into stasis, but knows that this will be better than anything else they can do.

* * *

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	16. Chapter 16

klsjdkasdkasdkkj I FORGOT TO UPLOAD THIS YESTERDAY, HAVE TWO CHAPTERS TODAY.

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

When they come to, it is to a processor ache and an alarm. Optimus sighs when he realizes they need to go to the surface, "We'll need to scan in new alt modes to blend in with the locals."

Spindle makes a huffing sound, "You vill not fit in ze clozing I made for you anymore. I do not like zis."

He nuzzles his little love, "This seems to be a no clothing planet, Spindle. I can't wear any if we want to blend in. It will be better if I just leave it off. Don't worry about that."

"You vill look like a whorebot."

He puts Spindle on the console, "You always say that. The altmode that Teletraan One chose for me doesn't even have a clear chestplate. You can't complain about that." He takes off his clothing, carefully packing it in Spindle's subspace since he knows the mech will want to repair it, "Let's do this."

"Ja, ja, ve vill go save ze fragging bots from ze zing attacking zem," Spindle complains, curling up against him. "Vhat planet are ve even on?"

Optimus plucks Spindle off of him again, as Spindle tries to climb his frame, "We don't know yet. You are going to stay here. You're not built for fighting."

The tiny mech hisses, but stays on the console this time as Optimus leaves with his team. Ratchet ends up staying behind as well, which is good, because things turn out very strangely for them.

After they manage to get Prowl out of the creature, destroying it in the process, they hurry back to the ship.

He can't have Prowl offline on him.

He's not losing another mech.

They make it back to the ship, Ratchet fixes Bulkhead easily. Prowl, sadly, is not that easily fixed. It is frustrating when Bumblebee seems to want to test out his new horn and siren in his vehicle mode, and he has to ask the minibot to transform.

He is not the least bit surprised to have an alarm telling him there's an intruder in the cargo bay.

When he gets down there, he picks the tiny thing up by the scruff of its neck and asks, "How did you get down here?"

Bumblebee walks up behind him, making Spindle skitter irritibly on his shoulder, "It followed me home!" Bumblebee then adds jokingly, "Can I keep it?"

The little thing in his servo looks upset, "Hey! I'm not an _it_. I'm a she!"

He looks over at Bumblebee, "So I suppose you have an explanation." He keeps the little thing out of Spindle's reach, not wanting it damaged because his lover was curious and wanted to poke it.

"Actually... I'm narrowing it down to my top five."

He's about to reprimand Bumblebee when Ratchet coms him, "Prime! You better get up here now!"

In the medical bay, Ratchet is hunched over Prowl, clamps in his chamber, trying to control the surge of his spark energies, "Circuit damage is too extensive! I can't keep him stable!"

The organic femme suddenly jerks forward, "Woah!" The thing around her neck is glowing a bright blue and pulling her towards the medical berth. The minibot picks her up and places her on the berth besides Prowl. She looks at him for a moment, and then smiles brightly, climbing atop the cyclebot. The thing in her servos makes a strange sound and shifts shape-just like any Cybertronian changing modes-and she places it into a slot on the bot's spark cover. Blue light fills the room, and when it fades, Prowl's chestplate is completely repaired.

"That's... quite the cure," Prowl says, stating the obvious.

"Can all... 'shes' do that?" Bumblebee asks incredulously.

"I don't even know how I did that," the little organic says, posture fearful and scared, clutching the thing around her neck tightly.

He shakes his head, "At this point, nothing surprises me. I've seen more action in this one solar cycle than I have in my entire Cybertron service career." Even if it comes quite close with dealing with Megatron and Oil Slick.

"Solar cycle's not over with yet," Ratchet points out, looking at the view screen showing vehicles with search lights that can only be looking for the little she on their medical berth.

That's confirmed with, "I think my dad's looking for me."

Optimus nods, "Then we must return you to your creator." He waits until Ratchet gives Prowl a final all-clear, and then transforms down. Spindle makes a strange sound and prods at his sides when Ratchet opens and allows the organic to get inside of him.

"Do you open zat vay, meine Optimus?" Spindle asks, rubbing at his seams. "I vould like to ride . . . inside you."

He feels odd having doors, but if more than willing to let his lover in, "I do." He opens up, liftting Spindle into his seat. "Are you comfortable?"

The little bot skitters around for a moment, touching him all over. "You are very... sensitive, meine Optimus," his love murmurs, as he squirms. "We vill be testing zis out tonight, ja?"

He has a lightbar on his back in botmode. He knows for a fact that it feels very... nice when he moves fast. He is looking forward to experimenting in the berth his beloved. "I think that will be a wonderful idea."

Spindle shifts and rubs against parts of him that Optimus isn't sure the function of. "Oh ja, I like ze little zings inside of you." He plucks at a restraining belt of some sort, "You seem to be built for ze bondage. How kinky."

Optimus flushes, and shifts back and forth on his wheels, "Shush, Spindle. We can discuss this later, when we're in private." He drives up out of the ship, "We have other things to do now, like returning the organic to her creator."

* * *

They return the little organic with the minimum of fuss, and actually get invited to her home. Turns out she is a tiny organic femme, and it _is_ a clothing required planet. It really should have been very obvious, but he is far too used to inorganic life being the dominant species, rather than not.

He holds out the outfit to Prowl, "You will wear it."

"You know it interferes with my meditation. I refuse." Ninjabots are notoriously difficult when it comes to clothing related matters, and Optimus kind of wishes it was easier to just physically pin them down.

"Everyone _else_ is wearing their clothing, and you wore it while visiting the planets we were visiting before. You will wear it now. Spindle made it for you."

"There is no need to wear clothing, Optimus. I would appreciate if you noticed that while the _organic_ lifeforms wear clothing, the drones they have made do not. They-"

Optimus frowns, "Few bots ever dress their drones, Prowl. Other than seekers, that is."

Seekers were notorious for the outrageous things they did, though much of their private lives was kept hidden. Vos had many secrets it would not share with bots not capable of flight.

Prowl crosses his arms like a spoiled sparkling, "I will not be wearing it. They were just fine with us how we were last sol, and they will be just fine how I am now."

"Everyone else will be dressed. You will just draw attention to the fact that you are naked. You are going to be wearing this to the ceremony. It is _traditional_ to wear clothing to a ceremony. Even new recruits are allowed to wear clothing on Cybertron. You will wear this."

Prowl takes a step back, "It has sleeves for my fairings. _Sleeves for my fairings_. They don't even fit anymore. I can't wear them. I'm not _going_ to wear them. I refuse. I won't wear the gloves or the boots. I don't want the chestwrap. I no longer have my previous, " his visor narrows in irritation, "'_prostibot_' chestplate. I clearly just fine. Tell your little weaver lover that I don't need his clothing."

Spindle peeks out from under Optimus's hat, "You vill vear zem, or I vill go tell Bumblebee zat you secretly long for his spark but you vere just too shy to tell him and zen you vill have a minibot zat vill never leave you alone until you are sparking viz him and have dozens of little vones running around."

Prowl grumbles and slips the clothes on, "Just this once. I am _not_ wearing them during the rest of my stay here."

Spindle climbs over to Prowl, fixing the fit of the sleeves on the fairings, "You vill. It is a clozing required planet. You can not go around naked. Boz Sari and Isaac agreed. If it is summer, you can vear less, but you can not be _naked_. I vill make you a summer outfit viz a small cloak and chest wrap. Just for ninjabots. Even if you vill look like a _whorebot_. You alvays look like a whorebot, even in full ceremonial dress. You slink around like you are trying to sell your spark. I should just give up on you, but I can not. I looked at ze pictures of vhat must be hidden on a human, and I vill make you an outfit for vhat must be hidden on a bot."

Prowl makes an irritated sound, "I don't want a cloak."

"You vill _get_ a cloak anyvay. No vone zat has a outfit made by veavers does not have a cloak. You vill just have a _whorebot_ cloak. ... You whorebot."

"If you intend to try an insult me with that, you will not manage it. Ninjabots do not sell our sparks. We share freely with those who interest us." Prowl dims his optics at Optimus, "Though some of the bots that interest us refuse to share themselves in return. It can be quite disappointing."

Spindle hisses at him, "Slutbot! You are a filzy whorebot and you vill offline some sol because of your many spark diseases."

Optimus picks Spindle up, pressing a kiss to his beloved's head, "I am not interested in you, Prowl. You already know that. I have turned you down multiple times, and I know that means you aren't allowed to ask for at least a half a stellar cycle."

Prowl smiles, "Only three decacyles left, Optimus."

Spindle hisses angrily, trying to swipe at the cyclebot, but Optimus holds him carefully. "You're dressed. We're going to the ceremony. If you destroy any of it, no one is going to be happy with you. You are not going to pick any fights or try to roll around in the organic park."

"I only rolled around in one organic field, and that was not my fault at all," Prowl protests lightly. "It was impossible to resist. The fields were covered in flowers that smelled like energon candy. Don't pretend that you didn't sit down and rub your face all over them. I saw you, Optimus."

The mech flushes a bit, "I didn't." Optimus will deny it until his offlining sol, because Prowl had been the only witness to his rather embarrassing failed attempt at fueling on organic flowers.

Spindle nibbles on his fingers, "I vish you vere vearing gloves, meine Optimus."

"I look mismatched without boots, Spindle." He places the little bot on his shoulder, starting to walk. "I can't wear them unless I have boots. My new peds just don't fit them correctly. We _could_ have made new ones, but..." he trails off meaningfully, knowing that Spindle would never have wanted to cut into their 'facing just to make him boots.

Spindle nibbles his neck cables, "You are unfair. Making me choose between zat. I vould never have found zat little compartment to hold zings inside of you if I could not have made such a... zorough inspection, ja?"

The bot had shoved a vibrating sparktoy into that compartment, which had been nowhere near his sparkchamber, but had vibrated so strongly that it had ended up nearly toppling him into an overload anyways. It was deeply, deeply embarassing, and Optimus did not want to think of it any longer.

"We must go now." They didn't want to be late for the ceremony.

* * *

"Our struggle ends where it began, little bot, aboard this ship." Megatron kicks him violently across the cargo bay, and he's yanked back, wrapped up tightly by his grapples. He hates how his spark pulses at how Megatron _smiles_ at him. The sinfully pleased look from the mech making him all hot and flustered, only to go away when the mech glares and says, "Only this time the Allspark is _mine_."

He's thrown across the cargo bay again, this time disloging his hat, and making Spindle go flying. His spark hurts when he hears his little love make a hurt sound as he hits the ground. Megatron pushes Sari away from the Allspark's container, talking about how long he's waited for getting it. Optimus tunes it out. Focusing on getting out of the grapples.

By the time he's managed to struggle free, Megatron has placed the Allspark in his own sparkchamber, and the Decepticon is about to crush Sari's father. Optimus lunges at him, knocking him into the wall. Bright blue energy bursts from the mech's chest, and Optimus ends up pinned to the opposite wall by the blast, which burns through his clothing like tissue paper.

"You appoint yourself protector of the Allspark, yet you have no concept of it's true power."

There's a yell of, "Optimus!" and Sari throws the key into his servo.

"You want power?" He punches the key into the Allspark, "Have your fill!" The Allspark shatters into a great deal of pieces, causing Megatron to start to yell in a low voice that makes his frame shake. The bot falls to his knees and Sari opens the cargo doors. Megatron stands up, turning around, and charges the bot, forcing him out before they can be attacked again.

They watch as the mech explodes in mid-air.

He searches through the cargobay, gathering Sari into his arms to keep her safe, and looks for Spindle and Isaac. Spindle is easily found, if slightly broken from the rough treatment from Megatron, while he's not exactly sure where Isaac disappeared. They sit at the opened edge of the doors as he carefully repairs his beloved's misaligned legs.

Sari sits next to Spindle, asking softly, "Did you... destroy the Allspark?"

"No, I... I dispersed it." He rubs his chittering lover's back, "Which means that this key is the most powerful Cybertronion artifact in existence." He holds the key out to Sari, smiling at her, "And much too valuable to be keep in the servos of mere Autobots." He drops it in her tiny outstretched organic hands, and leans back, "If the Allspark chose you, it must have had a good reason." He rubs Spindle's back, "I think that's the best I can do. Do you want Sari to fix you?"

Spindle makes little broken noises, two broken legs twitching helplessly, "Ja, please. I _hurt_, meine Optimus." Spindle is leaking optical lubricants, which Optimus gently wipes away. He lowers his servos and lets Sari press the key against Spindle's chest, through a gap in his chestwrap that has come loose from the attack. Blue light glows around the little bot, and then he gasps with relief as she draws the key away. "Oh, ja. Zat is _so_ much better." He tests his legs and then skitters up onto Optimus's head, drawing out a hat from his subspace as he goes, which he tucks around himself, covering Optimus's headfins. "Zere. All better," the little bot chirps, muffled under the fabric of the hat.

He smiles, "Let's go find the others, Sari. Maybe they know where your dad is."

She nods, "I'd like that."

He picks her up, and he begins the steady climb down.

* * *

Cleaning up the damage of the fight is not the most pleasant of tasks, but it needs to be done. He doesn't mind the work, even if Bulkhead is sad about it. There's a blockage they put up so that they could clean in peace, but it seems that the humans don't really care about that. Sighing softly, he transforms, "One moment, Ma'am." Pulling the block up, he smiles down at her, and shakes his head when she looks up and giggles along with her son.

He wore his least threatening and most silly looking clothing to humans for a reason. He's found that organics _like_ it when they don't look threatening. That first night when they head their arms up incorrectly did not make them any friends, but him wearing his large poofy hat, flowy cloak, and oddly patterned chestwrap, means they all laugh or smile brightly at him because he's not a threat.

The woman waves at him, yelling, "Thank you!" before driving off, the rest of the cars following close behind.

Optimus waves back, and then sighs, turning to his team, "At least they're not afraid of us now."

"Wouldn't blame them if they were," Ratchet grunts, lowering debris into the trailer Optimus was borrowing. "We trashed half of their city."

Prowl, acting like a typical ninjabot, is up high, moving beams around where it's more difficult for heavier models to work. "I believe the Decepticons did most of the trashing."

The medicbot frowns, "Hey, where's Bumblebee? Isn't he supposed to be helping too?"

The minibot had gone off to help Sari. Considering that her father was still missing, and possibly . . . offlined by the explosion, they had felt it best to make sure that she had her friend with her. "He is working in Sumdac Tower," Optimus reminds Ratchet, who grumbles and goes back to moving debris into his trailer. Optimus lifts a servo and prods his hat gently, "Are you still refusing to help us, Spindle?"

The little bot peeks out from under his hat long enough to inform him, "I am offering ze moral support, meine Optimus."

He rolls his optics, "Of course you are."

They continue to work on cleaning up, and it isn't long before there's a sound of something he had thought he'd _never_ hear. Bumblebee comes running, Sari at his heels, "Did you guys see that?"

Ratchet nods, "It's kinda hard to miss."

Optimus looks to where he knows the ship, and it can only be a ship, is landing, "We better look into it. Transform and roll out." He secures Spindle safely in the seat, even as his beloved grumbles, and they head downtown. When they get there, Fanzone has his entire crew surrounding what can only be the Steelhaven, Ultra Magnus's private ship, and Optimus wants to rub his optics to stave off a processor ache. "Officer Fanzone? Could you have your men stand down? I need to handle this."

Fanzone chuckles, "Oh, oh what? So you can wreck the _other_ half of the city? I don't think so!"

The hatch of the ship opens and drops down, and Optimus and his team step forward, saluting the Magnus as the smoke clear around him. "Ultra Magnus, sir, welcome to Earth, Commander." Optimus wishes Spindle would come out from under his hat and salute as well, but the little bot has always been very disrespectful.

To his great surprise, Ultra Magnus requests that Jazz set up a forcefield to separate them from the organics, and seems to believe some of the lies that Sentinel has been spreading about organics. The nasty sorts of rumors that had Optimus thought had been dealt with long ago. They end up in the decontamination chamber by Ultra Magnus's order, and Optimus wonders what's happened to his Commander. The mech was never so organic-phobic before.

When they're finally let out, he explains how the Allspark has been dispersed. Not that they believe him about that. He manages to convince them to let him show them where the fight with the Decepticons took place, but he could nearly hit himself when he sees what vehicles Sentinel chose for Ultra and himself.

A large truck with a snowplow in the middle of summer for Sentinel and an _armored personnel carrier_ for Ultra.

"Yeah, no one's going to notice that," Bumblebee says sarcastically to Bulkhead, and Optimus really couldn't say it better.

Spindle murmurs to him, "He is vearing a plow attachment, and zere is no snow. He looks like a _whore_. Zis is vorse zan zat picture you showed me of him in ze clozing matching his paint. Does he not realize how he looks?"

He rubs his optics, deciding to tell Ultra and them now, "The humans will not trust you unless you wear clothing. This is a clothing required planet. If you don't wear it, you-"

"You're making that up because you're from Haydon IV. Just take us to the site." Sentinel revs his engine angrily, and starts toward the door. "Just shut up and stop your lies before they offend Ultra Magnus."

His commander says nothing, and Optimus sighs, folding himself down. "Stay here, Spindle." He shifts an arm back and drops the little bot into Bumblebee's servos. His clothing is still uncomfortably wet from the decontamination sprays, because Sentinel hadn't let them strip first. "I'll show you where it happened, sir." The leave the ship, and Optimus can see that Sari is emotionally wounded by their treatment of her. He'll make sure to apologize thoroughly later.

Taking them to dinobot island is cut short, by them being called by to a production plant going crazy and attacking everything. He manages to sneak Sari in with Prowl and Jazz, and turn it off. He ends up having to cut the panel apart to get the key out of it, exposing a Allspark shard stuck inside of it.

Ultra Magnus holds it in his fingers, touching it carefully, and when Sentinel protests, the bot says, "He may be a little rough around the edges, but as always, Optimus Prime exhibited the qualities of a true leader; strategic thinking, determination, and above all, loyalty. Something you could stand to learn a thing or two about, Sentinel Prime."

* * *

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	17. Chapter 17

OKAY, THERE IS A LOT OF PLOT I REMOVED WITH THE PORN. PLEASE GO TO MY JOURNAL OR MY TUMBLR TO READ THAT.

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

It had been a terrible sol, with Ultra Magnus encouraging him to _lie_. But he had finally proven that the Decepticons were there, and they had captured Starscream. With the seeker safely in the brig, Ultra had ushered Optimus into a hallway for a private word. He was expecting, perhaps, a reprimand for putting Sentinel in stasis cuffs.

What he got was a glossa thrust demandingly in his mouth, large servos groping his aft as the mech presses him up against the wall. His engine revs loudly, and Optimus pants as the Magnus murmurs into his audio, "It has been a very long time since I last had your spark, Optimus. You were amazing this sol. I _must_ have you now."

It is his duty as a Prime to say yes, and accept anything his Magnus demands of him. Even more so as an Elite Guard. The wings on his shoulder aren't just for show, and he knows it. He's already starting to unlock when there's an angry hissing, and his hat falls to the floor, Spindle's gloves falling with it, and Ultra calling out in pain as the weaver attacks his optics viciously. "Nein! You vill not touch him! You _vill not touch him_! He is synced for our sparklings, and ve are to be bonded! I vill not have you _ruin_ everything by claiming Magnus's rights!"

Optimus catches Spindle before more damage can be done, kissing his love's head, and keeping him away from Ultra. "A single 'face won't-"

"He vill not stop at vone 'face! He vill use you all night! He vill demand zat I join in! He vill ruin us! He vill ruin us and ve vill never clutch! He vants us to never have any sparklings!"

"Spindle, please calm down," Optimus begs, reaching over to touch the Magnus's wounded face. One of his optics is scratched badly enough that the Magnus is unlikely to be getting any visual feeds from it, and the other is nearly as badly mangled. "I am so sorry, sir." He could have his rank revoked for something like this, but he knows Ultra Magnus is too noble a bot to resort to such petty revenge.

Ultra Magnus wipes leaking energon away from his face, "I would never force Optimus or yourself into my berth, Spindle. I get no pleasure from sparkrape."

Optimus takes Ultra's arm, leading him to the medical bay, "I know that, sir. Should I go get Ratchet or Sari to fix you?"

The mech nods, "Y-yes. Please. That would be... nice. Thank you."

Spindle huffs angrily, "You should not have done zat in ze first place, and should heal on your own. You know zat ve vill be getting bonded. How _dare_ you do such a zing?"

Optimus holds Spindle a little tighter, "He is within his rights, love. You know this." He puts his fingers to his temple, "Ratchet? Can you come to the Steelhaven? Ultra Magnus needs his optics repaired."

"On my way, Prime," Ratchet answers, and Optimus settles Ultra onto a medical berth, beginning a basic field patch on him.

"I am sorry that Spindle attacked you, sir," Optimus says quietly, ignoring Spindle's hisses and growls. Sari says he reminds her of an angry cat. "You were well within your rights, and I . . ," he tails off, flushing a bit as he puts a coat of temporary sealant over the mech's optic glass. He's not going to say how much he misses being fragged by a larger mech. Not in front of Spindle.

Not with how large of hints his lover is dropping about Megatron being in their berth. He only just managed to get Spindle to stop talking about how shoving the Allspark against his spark made him receptive to sparklings, and how large of a spark Megatron has. He did not appreciate being told that he looked like he was very close to overload as Megatron was using the Allspark on him.

Even if the idea of such a large bot holding him down makes him hot and bothered.

Ultra pats his arm awkwardly, "It is fine, Optimus. I should have realized that my advances were not welcome. I had been nothing but impolite before this. I must realize that just... shoving you against a wall and demanding you into a berth is not the way to go. I will not do it again."

"You had better not," Spindle says primly, adjusting a new hat on Optimus's head to cover his headfins. "Optimus is _mine_ and if you try to get his spark again, I vill find a vay to offine you for it."

"I will keep that in mind," Ultra says, his tone rather light considering the nature of the threat. Weavers are very, very possessive of the things they believe they own. And Spindle firmly believes that he owns Optimus's spark now.

Optimus finishes the patch, and pulls out Spindle's spare gloves. He cleans off his little bot's claws before replacing them, "You are going around being indecent, beloved. What would your creators say?"

The weaver huffs, "Zey vould tell me zat I vas in ze right. I am to keep you safe from anyvone zat vould try to intrude upon our spark syncing. Even if it means zat I go out vizout any gloves and show off my claws like a slutbot. I do not care. I vill keep you safe, meine Optimus."

He shakes his head, "You can not attack bots like this."

"I can if zey try to take your spark." Spindle strokes his frame gently, "If zey are not going to contribute to ze clutching, zen zey vill not be allowed to touch your spark." He gives Ultra Magnus an arch look, "Am I vrong in zinking zat you are unvilling to clutch?"

The larger bot looks away, "My willingness is not the issue, Spindle. I am the Magnus. If I intend to spark, I must get the council's approval of the bot I wish to spark with."

"You vould take too long to sync viz, and ve vill not do it, anyvay." His mech nibbles on his chestwrap, nuzzling him lovingly, "Ve vill be clutching as soon as ve can."

He sighs softly, "The war is picking up, Spindle. We don't know if that's even possible."

He can see the panic rise in the weaver's optics, "Ve _vill_ clutch soon. I know it. Ve can not-"

He nuzzles his lover gently, "I know, but it isn't _safe_ here to raise sparklings, is it? I can't have any sparklings here. It wouldn't be smart, would it?"

"Ve vill return to Haydon IV if ve must," Spindle protests, but Optimus silences him with a kiss. He doesn't want the mech to get all sparkbroken if they have to wait because of the war. He won't leave Earth defenseless.

Ratchet arrives then, and complains about the quality of Optimus's patch, which he accepts with as much grace as it deserves. It is a medic's solemn duty to complain about any work done by any non-medicbot.

* * *

Optimus rolls his optics, fixing the building, "You could help."

Sari shakes her head, adjusting the hat that Spindle made her to cover her armored pigtails, "Nope. You're doing _great_, Optimus. That building is doing awesome."

Spindle nods on his shoulder, sipping on a tiny cube of energon, "Ja, you do such vonderful repair vork, meine Optimus. You don't need us. Ve vill just vatch."

He sighs softly, continuing to patch up the damage from the last fight, "I don't have to do all the work myself. This is why you came along."

"Nein. I came along because I vanted to vatch you flex your frame for me, and zis is ze best vay." His little lover purrs at him, rubbing his head against Optimus's audio fin under his hat. The fabric rubs against it, and Optimus's spark throbs a bit. "You vere stubborn. Ze humans said zey could fix zis one on zeir own."

Sari sips on a glass of lemonade, curled up on a beach chair that she has set out in a shady spot on the sidewalk nearby. "I just needed a break from the paperwork dad keeps making me do."

Optimus can't really fault her for that, since he is also out here since he didn't want to fill out any more reports. Granted, he will have to go back to them when he's finished, but that doesn't mean he can't hide away from them for just a little bit longer. "You could still do something about it."

She shakes her head, curled up happily, "Nope. I like it here. You keep doing what you're doing. I'll just do this. Dad won't bother me if I'm here."

He shakes his head, "Very well."

Things go well enough for another breem or so, and then-there's a roar of engines, the sound of transformation, Sari screaming, "Megatron!" and then something heavy hits his helm from the back, and the world goes dark.

* * *

Something is rubbing against his spark, making his engine rev loudly, and familiar mandibles are wiggling against his mouth. Optimus smiles to himself, kissing Spindle lovingly, wondering what sort of toy he's put in his chamber. He pushes his chest up a bit, and then his optics online with shock as his spark is _squeezed_ by something that is unmistakably a large servo.

He starts to panic, especially when he notes that Spindle is wearing the tattered remains of his bonding wrap. He looks above him, and he can see that he is being fondled by Megatron, who is looking at him with dim optics. "Oh, Primus."

Spindle kisses him, rubbing his faceplates, "He has not 'faced you yet, meine Optimus, but I can not stop him. Ve are all bonded. He put us in our vra-"

"_Bonded_? You told me that this paint was _washable_." Megatron's servo does not let up its assault on his spark, making him writhe and whine with want and need, "You-"

"You made me put our bonding vraps on! You touched and fondled zem! Ve can not go home vizout bonding to you as vell! You are lucky zat I vant to clutch viz you, and zat I zink ze Allspark made it so zat your spark vill carry ze clan's sparklings easily! You vould sparkrape us and leave us! Now you can not! Ve are bonded and you _can not_ leave us!"

* * *

OH GOD, STOP READING, AND GO TO THE JOURNAL OR TUMBLR, THERE IS SO MUCH PLOT I CUT OUT WITH THIS PORN.

* * *

Spindle licks his mandibles, crawling off of him reluctantly, and disconnects the cables. "Zere. Our bonding is official. Now ve need to get Megatron measured for-"

Megatron picks Spindle up, "And now I use your spark, and-"

Optimus climbs out from under the larger mech, "No. Now we get you measured for clothing. Like he said. You're the one that decided to do this so abruptly, so you get to deal with the fact that we don't get to interface all night." He disconnects the cable, spooling it back in, and closing his sparkplates, "Since we're doing the mod on me-"

Megatron's optics light up, "So you agree to the clear chestplate?"

He rubs his optics tiredly, "I'm going to have to get it, aren't I? I'll need to save my current chest plates, though. I can't get rid of them, since they have my bonding paint."

"It is weaver-made paint, meine Optimus. It vill come back, if you svitch to ozer plates. Ze pattern is now imprinted into your paint and color nanites." The little weaver wiggles his mandibles with some irritation, "I vish zat Megatron had not splashed ze paint on meine _face_. I vill have zese marks forever now."

Optimus finds it oddly adorable, like Spindle has been experimenting with painting with his mandibles instead of brushes. "You look good with them, sweetspark."

Megatron sets Spindle down spooling their cables back in and closing their sparkplates, "Will you be modifying your frame now?"

He gives the mech an irritated look, "I'm not trusting whatever Decepticon medic you have to treat me. We need to have you measured for your clothing, and-"

Megatron shakes his head, "I will not be keeping this form. I am going back to my Cybertronion mode as soon as I leave Earth. I have an empire to run, and I can not do it looking this..." Megatron sneers, "soft."

Optimus crosses his arms, "You're ending the war."

"I am not." Megatron smirks, and adds, "Unless you are telling me that you know a way for me to conquer Cybertron." The mech picks him up and holds him close, murmuring in his audio, "Is that it, little mech? Will we rule Cybertron together?"

"Never," Optimus hisses at him, pushing at his chest. "We are going to make you clothes and then you are going to have a polite com-call with Ultra Magnus and negotiate peace."

Megatron rubs his aft, fondling him possessively, "I don't know. I would much rather have you by my side as I took over the planet. We would rule and-"

He punches the mech in the face, getting away, "I said _no_." He dusts himself off, "You are going to be negotiating peace and be reasonable about it. If you don't want to be in that form when we dress you, you will return to your other one. We need to measure you. You need to have your troops start to gather everything that is needed for the clothing, or this isn't going to be done in time for the clutching."

Megatron's optics dim, and he draws Optimus back against him, his engine revving loudly, "I _love_ bots with a bit of fight in them. Are you going to try to stop me again, little mech?" Megatron shoves him down on the berth, prying at his sparkplates. "It's going to be such fun, opening you for my use." Fingers rub along his seams, "I wonder how long we could keep you without any plates at all."

Optimus tenses, using what little leverage he has to pull his legs back and then kick the larger bot right in a sensitive seam, making him jerk back enough to slip out from under him. "Fragger."

The door opens, and a familiar lithe silhouette is in the frame, "Lord Megatron, I heard that you got my beloved, and decided to play with him a little bit. Not that I mind. I decided to jo-" Oil Slick stares at them, crazed green optics darting over Optimus's paint spattered frame, Spindle's paint _covered_ frame, and the marks all over Megatron's servos. "You _fragger_!"

The mech is just a blur of green, but Megatron is just as fast, catching him quickly, and knocking him into temporary offline. Megatron frowns down at the bot, "I should offline him permanently for that. He's been trying to poison me ever since he realized I'd been sending you gifts." Optimus had been ignoring those gifts. Especially since that first one was such a blantant comeon. Giving a mech a cloak meant to share with two bots, sized exactly for Megatron and Optimus, was enough reason for him to never open another. "He's such a _good_ scientist, and Blitzwing adores him, though. I wish he would just take Blitzwing's hints and bond with him."

"I doubt he'll ever give up hope that I will interface with him and decide to exchange my Elite wings for a Decepticon brand," Optimus says softly, reaching over to stroke Oil Slick's brow. He still feels for the bot, just a little. Enough that he wants Oil Slick to be happy. "Perhaps I should have a talk with Blitzwing. I know . . things that could be useful to him."

Megatron's optics blaze, "No. You are my consort now. I will not have you interfacing with other mechs."

Optimus blinks in confusion, then understanding dawns, "Oh..." He shakes his head, "No. I'm not interested in Blitzwing. If it is that important to you, you're welcome to sit with me as I talk with him to keep him from trying." He knows that Blitzwing is very interested in him. He's heard reports from Fanzone of the bot stealing a firetruck, and he is _very_ certain that he knows what it was used for. Especially since that happened a little bit after he suggested to the triple-changer to just force Oil Slick into a berth.

He tries not to think about such things, frankly. It is more than a little disturbing.

"No. He will see you when I announce you both as my consorts." Megatron strokes his frame gently, tossing Oil Slick out the door to land with a crash on the floor. "Now that the trash has been dealt with, I should show you around the base. You can do your foolish tailoring later." He drops Spindle on Optimus's chest and carries the both of them outside.

Spindle shrieks and scurries back and forth on Optimus, "Nein, nein, nein! I am naked! We are naked!"

Megatron's engine purrs happily, toying with their ripped bonding wraps, "You look so delicious like this, though. Why would you ever want to hide your frame away?"

Optimus pulls out his hat from subspace, placing it over Spindle to hide him from view, "You are shaming us, and making our bonding nothing but a farce. No one but us is supposed to see our wraps, and you want to show everyone. You want nothing more than to prove to your troops that we belong in your berth when we should be your equals. You will take us back this instant."

Sighing, the mech carries them back in just long enough to rip the remainders of their bonding clothes from their frames and cover the pair with a soft mesh blanket. "Are you happy now?" he asks, carrying them out again.

Optimus is not.

What if cleaning drones get at their bonding wraps and ruin them?

Or worse, get the paint on themselves?

Would that make him bonded to a cleaning drone?

Spindle makes nervous clicking sounds, "I vant my clozing. I vant to get dressed. I should be allowed to be fully clozed, or I vill be zought to be a _whorebot_. I am not a whorebot. Vhat if ve see Scalpel? He vill see me, and he vill zink I am a whorebot."

Megatron chuckles softly, "Scalpel doesn't wear any clothing. He says it gets in the way of his lab work. You would have nothing to worry about from him seeing you."

Spindle gasps in dismay, "Scalpel is not vearing any clozing? How could he?"

"He seems to enjoy going without," Megatron comments, carrying them down twisting hallways. "The only outfit he enjoys wearing is energon and oil after he slices a bot apart. Even then, he'll usually lick himself clean."

Spindle gasps louder, "He licks himself in public? Vhile he is _naked_? Oh, Primus, no vonder our clan has removed him from ze clan history records. He is a shame upon us all, going around acting like some shameless hussy of a mech."

Megatron rubs the top of Spindle's head, a very loving gesture that is befitting a bonded, "He acts like a proper Decepticon. It is to be expected." The bot smiles, optics dim, "Encouraged, even. You should try it. Maybe you should join him in the lab sometime."

Spindle slashes at Megatron's fingers, hissing wordlessly, and hides under the blanket, next to Optimus's chest. Optimus pets the weaver to calm him, murmuring softly to Megatron, "Spindle is not going to be a sciencebot. He is a weaver, through and through. You are never going to be able to get him to do anything else. There is a reason he wasn't in any of the fights when you attacked us. Other than when you knocked my hat off."

"I have a bit of a thing for sciencebots," Megatron admits easily, "even if they are not my favorite modeltypes." He hums, reaching under the blanket to stroke Spindle's frame, despite the weaver scratching at him. "The sciencebot Perceptor, for instance, is a mech I find most intriguing. I have often wondered what it would take to make that bot moan in the berth."

From what Optimus remembers, the bot isn't anything special in the berth. A nice enough frag, perhaps, but the monotone moaning was rather off-putting after a few kliks of spark-licking. He tilts his servo back and forth, and shrugs, "Eh, not that great, really. I wouldn't try it a second time."

Megatron gives him a hard look, "_You_ fragged Perceptor?"

He taps his shoulder, on the Elite Guard wings, "Not just for show." He rubs Spindle's back, pulling a cloak out to gently start to dress his tiny lover, "He was interested in me, and I was willing to try him out. I wasn't so interested afterwards, even if he was. Wheeljack was _also_ interested, but I was not willing to risk being damaged in the berth."

"A wise choice," Megatron says with a kind smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Did you know that Wheeljack was once captured by a few of my . . . less than intelligent soldiers, who decided it would be wonderful to break the rules I had in place for prisoner treatment and frag him? Well," the mech laughs, "attempt to frag him, at least. They had bits exploded off in a rather painful manner. You would think a mech old enough to have a spike would know not to extend it around that bot."

Pulling out a chestwrap, he puts it on Spindle and murmurs, "He got what he deserved, then."

Megatron toys with Spindle's ped tips, "You should go without your boots, my consort. You look so delicious with your peds showing, and your legs laced up. I want to lick you and-"

Spindle lashes out, clawing at Megatron's fingers, "Nein! I vill not dress like a _whorebot_ for you. I vill be fully dressed." Spindle puts on more clothing, tying up leggings quickly and efficiently before yanking on his boots. "I do not vant you to demand us to go around naked. Like ve are to be stared at for your entertainment. Ve are your bondeds. Ve are to be _loved_, not to be used."

"I am not allowed to find you arousing? To want to see you in erotic garb so that I may enjoy the sight of you better?" Megatron strokes his frame gently, ignoring the slices on his fingers that leak energon freely. "I would do the same for you. If you wish to put me in an outfit that stimulates your spark, I will gladly wear it for you. In private."

Spindle moves away from the fingers, glaring angrily, "Ve vill vear vhat you vant us to, as vell. _In private_."

Optimus sighs softly, taking Megatron's servo, and using a nanite salve to heal the scratches, "Please stop trying to force him on these things. It will not work out well for anyone." He leans against the larger bot's chest, optics dimming against his will from comfort, "Where are we going?" It seems like a very long time to be walking, and he's rather curious.

"My throne room," Megatron answers, entering the room that moment.

* * *

**Please Review**

Okay, like I said up top, and _in the story itself_, there is plot I just yanked because it was in the porn. Please read this chapter in my journal or in my tumblr. The links are in my profile. Just... just go there, please.**  
**


	18. Chapter 18

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

_"Where are we going?" It seems like a very long time to be walking, and he's rather curious. _

"My throne room," Megatron answers, entering the room that moment. It's a cavernous room, with a grant throne in the center, where the mech sits down, gazing out at the few Decepticons there with a regal expression. Optimus shivers and hides under the blanket more. There are bots here that he does not recognize. Most of them are quite large, and they all look at Megatron and Optimus with lust in their optics. "I have wonderful news to announce," Megatron purrs, stroking Optimus's frame.

Optimus shifts uncomfortably in Megatron's arms, only to have his spark freeze in his chamber at the sudden sight of something he hadn't thought was possible. They had been told that Blurr was _offline_. Spindle bristles with anger in his arms, and he rubs the weaver's back, not to calm him, but to calm himself. Optimus points a servo that is shaking with anger at Shockwave, who is leading Blurr on a leash and in a disgusting open-mouthed mouthclamp, "What. Is. This?"

Megatron pauses, looking over at the bot, "Oh... I had forgotten. The racecar was one of your students, wasn't he? One of the ones that had gotten away before."

"Yes," Optimus hisses, "he was. He _is_. You will release him immediately."

Megatron sighs, and beckons the one-opticked bot over. "Shockwave?"

"Yes, my liege?" the mesk asks, his tone eager, even if his optic slides once or twice to Optimus with dismay and dislike. "How may I serve you this sol?" It's obvious the mech will do anything for Megatron.

"I want you to release the racecar. Seeing a former student as your berthbot is quite upsetting for my consort." Megatron tips Optimus's face up and kisses him, ignoring Shockwave's sudden gasp of dismay, and the sudden silence around them at Megatron's declaration. "You will release him and then drop him off with that local group of bots here."

Shockwave's servos shake, "Yes, my lord. Anything you say." The bot starts to tug on the leash, moving Blurr away, but Optimus glares at him.

"Take off the mouthclamp and leash _now_."

Shockwave looks reluctant, but a glance at Megatron makes him do it. Spindle climbs out from the metal mesh to curl up on Megatron's shoulder, glaring at the spybot with firm disapproval. When Blurr is free, the mech gasps, yanking away roughly from Shockwave, "Primus!" Oil Slick's modification of the bot has slowed his voice so that it is never going to be a incomprehensible blur again, and is now a low seductive tone that all of the bots that the ninjabot thought talked too much got modified to. "I never thought I'd see you again, sir!"

"We thought you had been _offlined_," Optimus says, his voice tight with restrained emotion. "It is good to see that they were only rumors, agent Blurr."

Blurr salutes him out of reflex, "Yes, _sir_." He yelps as sharp claws wrap around his chest, "No, not again, I don't-"

Megatron narrows his optics, "I told you to release him, Shockwave."

The mech lowers his optic. "And he is free from his leash and gag now. I only wish to remove him from your presence. My . . . Agent Blurr is a spybot. It would be unwise to let him stay here any longer."

Optimus narrows his optics, knowing that the mech just wants to sparkrape Blurr before returning him. "I want him returned to the Autobot base immediately." He pauses, "Did you empty his subspace?" He knows that Blurr has an expanded subspace, since he went on the vacation with them, and had been steadily filling it with clothing and all sorts of other useful things. The idea of this... creepy Decepticon touching everything his student owns disgusts him to his spark.

Shockwave looks irritated, "What does th-" The bot in-vents, "Yes. Of course, I did."

Optimus glares, "Then you will leave Blurr here while you return all of his things."

The mech's engine rumbles quietly, a warning to him. "I do not believe that-"

"Do as my consort tells you to, Shockwave," Megatron murmurs, stroking a finger along Optimus's shoulder. "If he wants the racecar to stay here, then he can." The Decepticon dims his optics. "There is more than enough room on my lap to keep the bot while you go fetch his things." He plucks Blurr from Shockwave's claws and tucks the bot under the blanket with Optimus. "There. Are you happier now, my consort?"

Optimus watches as Shockwave leaves, and nods, "I could be happier, but this will do for now."

Blurr blinks at him for a moment, then drops against him, curling against him in a almost broken manner that is hidden from the prying optics by the blanket, "Th-thank you, sir."

He rubs Blurr's back soothingly, "You don't need to thank me, Blurr. All the rest of my students are safe, I would never let you stay here." He's thankful to Oil Slick for that. The bot had rescued each and every single one of them when they were about to offline from overuse in the berth, and returned them one at a time. Sadly, Optimus was exiled at that point, and hadn't been there to see their returns, even if he was very happy to get the news of it every time.

Blurr tenses against him, "N . . not all of them. Sir, he has . . he keeps minibot slaves. Nearly a dozen of them. I know some of them were trained by you." The racecar makes a soft, half-broken sound, "He's hacked them all into obedience. They all think that they love him."

Fury blazes in his spark. "Megatron?" he asks, waiting for the mech to look down at him. "I want Shockwave to release all of the minibots he's holding captive. And I want their code returned to normal."

"My head spybot is going to wonder what he has done to upset me so."

Spindle drops down into Blurr's arms, "He should not have done zat at all. Zey are our _students_. How _dare_ he?"

Blurr hugs Spindle, "He does not care. Sedan joined him on his own, though. He wanted to be with Shockwave. He didn't need to have his code rewritten to be with him."

Megatron's engine rumbles unpleasantly, moving Spindle away from Blurr and into Optimus's arms, "He will be told to take out the code and to let them go. The ones that want to stay may stay. If they want to leave, they may leave."

"All Decepticons with . . berthslaves must offer them freedom," Optimus says, and Megatron presses a finger to his mouth to silence him, his expression irritated.

"You are too idealistic. I will not order my bots to simply give up the pets they have had for decavorns." Megatron pinches one of his headfins through his hat. "We will discuss options later, in private. It is enough to get your students freed for now. Be grateful."

He frowns, but realizes this may be the best he will get for now. He can discuss more later, and deal with it then. He sighs softly, and rubs Spindle's side, "Blurr, are you hurt?"

The bot shakes his head, "No. I'm not. Shockwave is surprisingly ... gentle in comparison to my previous treatment with the Decepticons. Much better than Lockdown. He doesn't have a spike."

He rubs Blurr's back, cuddling him gently and ignoring the jealous rumble coming from Megatron, "You won't be going back to him. You don't need to worry about that."

"I know sir, thank you," Blurr kisses his cheek, and Megatron's rumble grows louder, his servo coming down to pull Blurr to the opposite side of his lap. A breem or so later, Shockwave comes back with three squirming minibots, one of whom is bright red and trying to snap his claws off with sharp denta. He deposits them on the floor in front of Megatron, Freewheel and Crashcourse huddling together with confusion and fear on their faces, Cliffjumper in mild stasis cuffs.

"I," Shockwave makes a broken sound, "I do not believe that I can . . . you must give me more time to repair my other minis, my liege. They have been with me much longer, before I perfected my hacking techniques."

Optimus twitches, "I can allow it as long as they aren't being hurt. I want them returned the very moment they're repaired."

Shockwave looks insulted, "I would never hurt them! I love-"

"You kept us in a _cage_, you fragger!" Cliffjumper interjects angrily, trying to yank free of the cuffs, even if it isn't really possible.

Shockwave pinches Cliffjumper's horn painfully, "It is to keep you safe, little one. None of the others complai-"

"That stops. This very instant. And you will _never_ do that again." Optimus tries to drop out of Megatron's lap, only to be scooped back up, "Release me at once. He's hurting Cliffjumper."

"He is administering a very mild form of discipline," Megatron corrects. "I believe if you were to embarrass yourself in front of your Magnus at a council meeting, you would be given extra paperwork or lessons in diplomacy. We simply believe in a more direct approach." He slips his fingers under Optimus's hat and gives his headfin a teasing tweak.

Optimus tries to keep from revving, but fails miserably.

He bats the mech's servo away, "Stop that."

Cliffjumper frowns at them, voice dripping with disapproval, "You _bonded_ to him." The minibot must have spotted the massive amount of paint all over them, not that it was hard to miss. The bot always did pay extra attention when he explained odd rituals about Haydon IV, even if the mech never planned on going and was deeply resistant to ever wearing clothing.

He gives the mech a hard look, "And the war will be ending. What did I tell you about doing anything it takes, soldier?"

Cliffjumper falls silent, his expression still fixed into a scowl. Optimus just sighs and wishes that his job was a bit easier sometimes. He can't even guarantee that the war will end in the Autobots' favor at this point. Most of what he had to bargain is gone now, since he is bonded to Megatron quite thoroughly.

Shockwave scoops up all three minibots and hugs them tightly, prompting dismayed squeaks from the three, "I will miss you all, my sweetsparks. I am sorry that I have to let you go."

Freewheel and Crashcourse shake, pushing Shockwave away while also trying to hug him in a confused manner. Optimus frowns, not happy with how the programming isn't completely out. He's going to have to ask Perceptor to do it, most likely, and hope for the best. If that doesn't work, his former students are going to have to come back here for more time with this horrible bot. He isn't looking forward to that at all.

He is relieved when Megatron puts them all on his large lap, even if the mech does it extremely reluctantly. Optimus starts to remove Cliffjumper's stasiscuffs and asks, "And where are Blurr's things?"

Shockwave's optic twitches, "There is far too much to fit into a single subspace-"

"I'm sure you have storage boxes."

It is painfully obvious that the mech wishes he could force Optimus into a mouthclamp. "I will have his things shortly. However, I cannot return everything. There were several recording devices filled with information he had stolen from us, and I was forced to destroy them. I am certain you understand that, my liege."

Megatron nods, and rubs a finger down Optimus's back, teasing his lightbar, "I am more than willing to replace any pieces that were unusually expensive. Otherwise, the loss is justified."

He'd like to protest it, but he knows that is something that is done just on principle. He smiles when the cuffs come off of Cliffjumper, and grabs the minibot before he can spring and attack, "Stop that. You aren't going to attack my bonded. I could have left you in the cuffs, Cliffjumper."

The minibot squirms angrily, pinned between him and Megatron's armor, "He's a _Decepticon_! Megatron! The worst of the lot!"

He rolls his optics, "And he's my _bonded_. You will stand down, or I will not be happy."

"Oh, boo-fraggin'-hoo," Cliffjumper growls. "You're the one who taught me to make sure to offline you if you went to the 'Cons."

Optimus flushes, "That is out of context, Cliffjumper. You know I was referring to the unlikely scenario that I became a traitor and took a Decepticon brand." Probably because he'd been hacked by Oil Slick. "Show some respect, or I am more than willing to put you back in the restraints."

Cliffjumper glares, "You're turning tra-"

"Optimus!" comes an all too familiar cry again, and Optimus rubs his optics tiredly as Oil Slick comes rushing in. "There you are!"

Optimus reaches into his subspace, not the least bit surprised to find it lacking of anything at all. He had been hoping for something to restrain Oil Slick and possibly Cliffjumper with, but that is out of the question, Megatron was just too through. "This sol is just... too busy."

"Zat is very true, meine Optimus," Spindle murmurs, just before Oil Slick comes hurtling towards them.

Blitzwing darts forward from the crowd and yanks Oil Slick into his arms. "Nein, little bot. You will not be doing zis today. You will be a good bot and stay wiz me." He pinches a headscrew, before sliding his servos down to rub at his sparkplates. "Be a good bot, little mech."

Oil Slick whines, reaching out towards the throne, "But . . my _Optimus_. He's . . . that . . Megatron has bonded with him." Oil Slick looks almost sparkbroken. "That bonding paint should be _mine_."

Blitzwing shakes his head, "Nein, you will not fight zis. Not now." The triple-changer kisses Oil Slick demandingly, making the cyclebot mewl with want, "We will be going to our rooms, and you will not pay attention to zis. We can work zrough it later." Oil Slick scrambles at the bot's armor, but doesn't actively try to escape his hold, only making tiny upset sounds at being denied what he wants as he's carried out of the throne room.

Megatron rubs a finger on Optimus's side, humming softly, "That is going to be a problem later on. I am not going to allow this sort of behavior to continue from him."

"Hopefully it will just take some time," Optimus says cautiously. "Oil Slick used to be very good at adapting to things. He seems to like Blitzwing very much as well." And after Optimus shared a few of the bot's intimate secrets, Oil Slick would love him even more. "Perhaps we could make bonding cloths for the pair and hope they take the hint and cover each other in paint."

"Zat is a vonderful idea," Spindle enthuses, rubbing against him. "Ve vill make zem ze best bonding clozes, and zen make zem bond zat very night."

"We'll need to make Megatron's clothing first," he murmurs, cuddling against his large lover absently as he pets Spindle. "A bonded _always_ comes first, and we can't ignore-"

Cliffjumper interrupts him, startling him since he had spaced out that his students were even there, "You _are_ turning traitor! I knew it! I shou-"

He slaps the cuffs back on the mech's wrists, "Be polite, Cliffjumper. I have things I _need_ to do. If I was on Haydon IV, all of this would be done already. But now I'm bonded to..." He groans, rubbing his optics, Spindle doing the same, "We're going to need so many things, and we're going to have to make it ourselves. We're not _allowed_ to let other bots make it." He glares up at Megatron, "This is all your fragging fault. Spindle and I have to make your fragging wardrobe since you bonded with us without a bonding wrap, and since you have such a high status it has to be a _intricate_ wardrobe. We need to get started on this right away. Why did we even let you take us out of the room? We should have been working on this now."

Megatron chuckles, tickling his armor lightly, "I have an empire to run, Optimus. You will see when we return to New Kaon. I cannot sit for measurements and fittings, unless you intend to do them in public. I have things that have to be done."

Optimus growls at him, "And _I_ have clothing that has to be made. You _will_ consent to every fitting I ask of you, or I will paddle your aft until it's red."

Megatron gives him an amused look, "Will you really? Well, I will have to just let you measure me for clothing, then." The bot rubs his aft, optics dim, "Later, though. For now we will be here. I will be changing out of this alt mode later on. I need to blend in for now."

He growls irritably, "If you go back, we can make you clothing, and the humans will be less afraid of you. This is a clothing required planet, and they know that the bots in clothing won't hurt them. Even if you-"

Megatron presses a kiss to his lips, "Later, my consort. Later. For now, we will be doing this."

He pushes Megatron's head away roughly, ignoring how the bot revs for him, "We are doing _nothing_. We need to do this now, or it will never get finished. The clutching will be finished before we are even halfway finished with the wardrobe, and that is if you have all the materials we need for it."

"Very well," Megatron hums, kissing the bot again, before rising to his peds. "My loyal Decepticons," he waits until they are watching him, "my consorts request time with me. We shall be celebrating our bond for the rest of the decacycle. General Strika will assume command in my absence." He drops the three minibots and Blurr into Lugnut's arms, "Please return these to the Autobots. I know that I can trust you to handle them with care."

Lugnut nearly glows with pride, "Yes, my liege! I will do my best to-"

Optimus interrupts, "Make sure to get all of the items that were taken from all of their subspaces from Shockwave. Most of it will be out of date for Freewheel and Crashcourse, but it is better than nothing. I want them all to be safe."

Lugnut shifts a little uncomfortably, but nods, "Of course."

Megatron smiles, "Very good, Lugnut."

Lugnut smiles at Megatron, his optics brightening with happiness at the recognition. "I will not fail you, my liege." The mech leaves, and Optimus watches his students wave farewell at him. Watches Cliffjumper bite Lugnut's armor.

The mech never learns. You don't deliberately aggravate your captors. That only drives them to be even worse to you. Optimus sighs, leaning against his lovers. "We have much work to do. Let's get you fitted for a basic cloak first."

Megatron nods, "If that's what you wish. I have nothing against a cloak. I have seen the ones you wear, and I can-"

"When I say basic, I mean basic for you." He tucks Spindle in his arms, "Your most basic one is still quite complicated. You are going to have to have intricate designs all over it. Granted, for _now_ we can let you get away with just the barest of things since you have nothing." The idea of it makes him shudder, and he can feel that Spindle thinks the same, "However, you can not go without for long. The very moment we finish something better, that is what you will be wearing."

Spindle shifts unhappily, "It vould shame our creators to see you in vhat ve put you in at first. You vill not be seen by anyvone on Haydon IV before ve are ready."

"I have no intention of contacting the planet anytime soon," Megatron shrugs. He sits on his berth and dims his optics, "Will you be measuring me now?" He stretches out lazily, showing off his armor. "Only temporary things. I _will_ be changing back to my original frame soon. If you like, I can give you the schematics for it, so you can make future clothing to those specifications."

Optimus grumbles, his engine whining a bit with distress, "You're a fragger. You have no idea how complicated it is to make the things we have to make for you."

Megatron smiles, "I'm sure that it won't be that bad. We can just modify what you make. You don't need to worry so much, my consort." The bot tugs him closer, one large servo rubbing his back, "We could spend time just ... exploring each other's frames. Possibly modify your's like we discussed?" The bot dims his optics further, "That would be-"

He pushes the servo away, and Spindle slashes at him angrily, "Nein! You vill change to your Cybertronion alt mode zis very instant! Ve vill not do zis... zis... faffing about!"

Megatron tips his helm to one side, considering them. "What motivation do I have to alter my frame so early for you?"

"The war will be ending soon, and we'll be leaving earth, and," Optimus flushes, looking away, "I rather like your Cybertronian alt. The . . sharp angles are very appealing to me." He runs a servo over Spindle's frame. He's always been attracted to sharp-edged bots. Oil Slick, Spindle, now Megatron . . . He has a thing for bots with points and sharp lines. It's a bit embarrassing.

The mech smirks, "No, I already realized that." The bot rubs Optimus's side, "I am asking, what will _you_ do if I change my frame? Will you be willing to go to Hook and have your chestplates modified? I am willing to do this if you are."

He shifts, feeling like he should demand more to modify his own frame, "And you can not complain about what type of clothing we put on you. At all." He knows that bots that grew up without any always protested the more extravagant types of clothing. He wants that to stop before it even starts.

"I will not complain so long as it does not hinder my ability to lead or to fight," Megatron bargains back, lifting his right arm and fusion cannon significantly. "Other than that, I am willing to act as your model, my little consorts. I may not have been raised with clothing, but I have worn it on occasion, though I admit it was largely only on very cold planets. Planets where going without would have been significantly uncomfortable." He kisses Optimus gently, and then presses a kiss to Spindle's mandibles. The mech is surprisingly respectful with his kisses to the weaver. Most bots try to stuff their glossa in the tiny mouth, even though weavers tend to hate such kisses. Megatron just gently licks his mandibles, and the tiny glossa when it emerges.

He must have kissed Scalpel before.

Optimus leans against the mech, "Then I will modify my frame if you return to your Cybertronion one, and do not argue about your clothing. We need to have this done, and you can not complain. We'll be able to do modifications of everything because of what you specifically have on your frame, but only if you are in the the correct-"

Megatron rubs his sparkplates, toying with his windshield wipers, "I think you will be keeping these. They look so delicious and delicate. You will be so lovely spread under me as I use your spark again."

Optimus flushes with heat, pushing his servos away, "Stop that. We need to start working right away. And I need to contact my team and let them know what is happening. Spindle, you collect the cloth we'll need." He turns to Megatron, "You go change your altmode." To the console, his voice uneasy, "I will . . . contact my team." They are going to not take this well.

Megatron presses a kiss to his head, "Very well, my consort. While I do that, I will also contact Hook so that he can start to prep the medical bay for your frame size. I will be there as he works on you."

He grabs the mech, "Where are all the things you took from my subspace?"

The bot pauses, then pulls out a large amount of storage boxes from under the berth. "Right here. The purple boxes are clothing, the green are the rest. All of your cubes of energon are in this box here," the mech pats one that is smaller than the rest and is pink. "I've never seen a bot so... prepared." Megatron's optics dim, "I will need to get an expanded subspace if that is the norm."

Optimus gives the bot a dirty look, "You would get an expanded subspace no matter what. We aren't letting you have a normal sized one, and you are likely going to have get a larger one than usual because of the size and scope of wardrobe you're supposed to have benefiting your station." He rubs his optics, "Just go." He needs to get an outfit to put on to hide the worst of the splashes of paint from his team, even if he'll forgo the gloves to prove he's bonded.

His lovers both leave, Spindle hissing to himself about being tasked to find fabric in a group of bots who do not wear clothing.

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**Please Review**


	19. Chapter 19

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

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Optimus sighs and pulls on some clothing, fitting a chest wrap around himself and a soft cloak. His hat covers the paint streak that had somehow ended up on one of his antennae, and his boots cover his peds modestly. He can't cover up the paint on his servos, or the splashes of it on his neck cabling, nor the little clawprint on his face from Spindle's tiny servo, just below his optic.

He takes a deep invent, and steels himself for what he's about to do.

He's rather surprised that it's Ratchet who answers. "Prime! You've managed to escape from the Decepticons? I'll call off the search, and-"

He sighs softly, "I'm not escaping, Ratchet. I'm working out a way to end the war." He holds up his servos, displaying the paint prominently, "Since I don't have much other choice."

The medic blinks at him, "What in the... Are you telling me that you're _bonded_ to that fragger?"

"A triple-bond. He put us in our bonding wraps and sliced them off. When I onlined, he was," Optimus flushes, "well, that part doesn't matter. We're bonded now. I am going to help negotiate a peaceful resolution to this war. He-"

"Is your spark damaged?" Ratchet asks gently, giving him a sympathetic look. "I don't trust the Decepticon medicbots for much, but if you're suffering spark damage, you should make sure to have it looked. We'll save you, Prime. You can count on us."

He waves a servo dismissively, "No. I'm just fine. You will need to focus on the bots that Lugnut is bringing to you. Blurr, Cliffjumper, Freewheel, and Crashcourse all will need medical scans after their time with Shockwave. I'm not sure how badly he damaged them. You will send word to everyone _not_ to attack Lugnut, since it will be a peaceful drop off."

Ratchet looks shocked, "Blurr's online? I had thought that he was reported-"

Optimus's spark swells with happiness, "He's online! I got him free! I am trying to get all the rest of the bots that are... berthwarmers free as well, but that will be a more difficult task. For now, I must focus on other things. I have so much to do, and so little time to do it." He touches the screen, "Be well. I will contact you soon. Hopefully Megatron will consent to allow you all to come visit before we start work on any treaty-making. I could use the help, even if most of you don't know much about cloth-making and tailoring."

Ratchet just looks at him like he worries that Optimus has gone completely insane. "Prime, you can't-"

The screen flickers off and Optimus sighs, shaking his head as he pulls out his loom and his sewing supplies. He has much work to get done.

When Megatron returns, the mech looks... stunning in his sharpness. Optimus has to stop what he's doing to look at the bot, engine revving faintly. Megatron looks at him, optics dim, and smiles, "Good, I am very glad that the extra time I spent polishing was worth it." The bot picks him up, rubbing his plates possessively, "Where is our third?"

He squirms, hating how his spark's pulsing gives his want to be used away, "He's looking for fabric, remember?"

Megatron frowns, "We'll need him returned, then. I want him with us as you get modified. All three of us in the medical bay. Besides, the only fabric would be with Blitzwing and Oil Slick. They wouldn't be good to ask."

"I'm sure there are fibers available somewhere. I was taught how to spin, and," he chuckles, "Spindle is excellent at turning raw material into weavable fiber. It was his primary duty in the clan production line, though he makes excellent whorebot cloaks as well."

"So he was the one responsible for that interesting item your ninjabot wears?" Megatron tweaks his headfins, tossing the hat aside so he can nibble on them.

Prowl has a very short cloak that goes just above his aft, and has the word 'slut' written all over it in English, just so that the humans can read it. Sari had told him that the news channels had thought that Prowl was wearing a outfit that was mimicking the tacky pants that some of the women wore with writing on their afts, until the humans had gotten a recording of Spindle screaming at Prowl to stop hitting on Optimus all the time. Then the humans had realized that Spindle really meant that he thought that Prowl was a slut, and he wanted the humans to realize that.

Prowl has a different cloak to wear now that he's been focusing on Lockdown and Jazz, rather than on Optimus, thankfully. But that doesn't mean that Prowl doesn't still wear the whorebot cloak whenever he wants something suitably ... slutty.

Which was quite often. Lockdown apparently enjoyed seeing Prowl in wispy, barely-there clothing. Sari had made rude comments about robots and lingerie, which had prompted Spindle into a muttering, weaving frenzy that had produced lacy garters and stockings for the ninjabot.

Prowl hated them because they restricted his wheel movement, but Lockdown reportedly loved them, proved by the fact that Prowl was constantly having to get them repaired.

Optimus refused to touch them unless they had been recently cleaned.

"He is." He arches up into the touch as Megatron plays with his chestplates, "I need to do this cloak before you can leave the room, though. No bonded of mine can go out naked again."

Megatron flicks his glossa against him, "Surely you can allow me this? I ca-"

He pushes the bot away, "No. I need to do this. You look like a whore. I can't allow my bonded to look like a whore that anyone can use at any time. You don't want me to just let anyone use my spark, not that I would, why would I let anyone look at you the same way?"

"Looking and doing are different things, Optimus," Megatron chides him. "I know that many bots will look at you with lust, and I welcome them to it. I do not mind having bots jealous of the fact that my consort is a beautiful mech with much to offer. That _both_ of my consorts are gorgeous, and that I am part of a weaver clan now."

At that, the door chimes, and opens, and Spindle comes in to the room backwards, grunting and squeaking adorably as he tugs a large bolt of cloth across the floor. "Ze . . . nff . . mechs here are . . huff . . terrible! Zey vould not even help me viz zis!"

Megatron walks over, gently scooping Spindle up, "You are allowed to tell them to do things, my consort. It is your right. They will just listen to you."

Spindle tucks his legs under him, trembling with the effort of dragging the cloth, "I should not have to! Zey should be asking _me_ if I need zings! It is clear zat I need help, so zey vill help! I do not need to ask vhen zey should just _do_."

Megatron chuckles, bringing the cloth over to Optimus, "Scalpel is very likely to attack them if they assume he needs help unless he tells them to do something."

"I am not meine cousin." Spindle stabs a ped towards the cloth, "Zis is an inferior blend of cloz, and it vill look terrible on you, but it is ze only bolt zat I could find in an appropriate size for your temporary cloak. Ve vill have to spin you a new vone, and I expect you to send for ze proper supplies. I hear zat Svindle is in ze area somevhere. You vill contact him and buy everyzing on zis pad." The bot pulls out a teensy little weaver-sized pad and offers it to Megatron.

Megatron takes the pad, extending hacking cables from his fingertips to go through it, and blinking in shock. "You can't be serious."

Spindle gives the bot a angry look, "Zis is ze _cheapest_ materials! You vill buy zem, so zat ve can make you ze cloak zat vill not shame us! Ve vill need to get ze better zings later, but ve can do ze gazering after ve get _zose_!"

"I am not getting a Quartexian metal, or a Klo flaxian fabric just because you say they're needed. They're-"

Optimus gives the bot a flat look, "Barely adequate, and our creators will be ashamed if they saw it on you. You will get it, since I'm certain that you don't have any sleipnir hair, or anything else of suitable rareness here on Earth."

Megatron gives him a strange look. "Why do you need sleipnir hair?"

"For your regal cloak and wrap. I need the fibers to make lace trim and to braid cording for the edges and for the crystals that will dangle as decoration. I know it will be quite difficult to find, but-"

He stops as Megatron pulls a box from his subspace and drops it on the berth beside them. It's quite large. "There was a sleipnir infestation on New Kaon when I was young. By the time I was running in the gladatorial circuits, they had us routinely going out to hunt the beasts. If we could prove it was our shot that offlined them, we were allowed to keep half the fibers harvested from their corpse."

Optimus touches the box cautiously, fingers brushing the lid before opening it. His servos shake as he takes out a single strand of a very large amount of something he would never get in such large amounts at once. Taking a stunned in-vent, he manages to say, "I think... we're going to need to rewrite what Spindle put on that list. If he gave you the _cheapest_ items possible, we can't use that with the sleipnir hair."

Spindle nods, poking though the box, "I vill rewite it. Ve can not vaste such a precious zing."

Megatron scoffs, "This is nothing. I have much more on New Kaon. There are at least ten more boxes of it that are that size or even larger. You can use whatever you wa-"

Optimus pulls out a datapad from one of the storage boxes he hasn't bothered returning to his subspace yet, "No. If we're going to use this, we're going to use it properly. If we don't, it just shows that we're not being good bondeds and are abusing our power to be with you. You will need better things in order to have the hair on it. We can't just go the cheapest route for what we're doing." He looks at Spindle, "You put down that he needed an expanded subspace on your datpad, right?"

"Ja, of course I did, I am not _stupid_," Spindle mutters, pulling out some of the sleipnir fibers to stroke and rub against his cheek before he gasps. "Zere. . . vhat is zis?" The little weaver holds up a strangely shaped silver object. "It looks like-"

"It is a sleipnir hoof," Megatron answers, taking the object from him. "It was very difficult to remove from the leg. The barbs here," he touches strong, metal barbs extending up, "link with other barbs inside the leg. The muscles contract to pull on these and extend the hooks that the sleipnir are so famous for grabbing their prey with. I was gouged many times during the hunts, and many more times while I was learning to take the carcass apart."

Optimus has _never_ heard of anyone having a hoof of the creatures before, and with the barbs, he can understand why. He takes it cautiously, and rubs it between his fingers, trying to figure out how he can decorate the clothing with it. "We could possibly cut it up and put it on your hat. Make it..." he trails off, frowning. He isn't sure, but he wants some way of showing off the barbs.

Spindle clicks his mandibles together, "Ve vill use it. How many do you have?"

Megatron shrugs, "I don't know. I never bothered to count. When we go to New Kaon, you will be allowed to take full stock of what I have for supplies. I don't have any interest in-"

Optimus stands up, "You will need to learn. You can't do this and not learn. If you remain ignorant, nothing good will come of this. You lead seekers, and seekers who wear clothing fuss the very most about it."

"I am not going to let their fussing control my behavior. I-"

Optimus presses a kiss to his mouth to silence him. "Am I going to have to bend you over the berth and spank you already, Megatron? I'm so disappointed that you can't even follow the simplest of requests from your consorts. All we ask is that you behave reasonably and get us the supplies we need. You do not have to learn to _make_ clothing, but you will learn the proper ways to wear it. Even if I have to paddle you like a naughty sparkling."

Megatron gives him an amused look, tugging him into his large lap and rubbing his chestplates, "You could try, but I imagine you will only damage your servo, my consort." The mech kisses him, glossa flicking into his mouth gently, asking permission to enter rather than demanding. When he opens his mouth, the bot deepens the kiss, and when Megatron pulls away, his spark is pulsing happily in his chamber. Megatron smiles, rubbing his headfin, "Let's get you to the medical bay, so that we can have your chest plates modified. I know that you have several extras of the clear chestplates. I saw them in your subspace, and I brought one to Hook for you."

Optimus frowns, "You had that one in _your_ subspace because you kept it there from cleaning mine out, you mean."

Megatron's optics dim, "I do love clear chestplated truckbots, and blue _is_ my favorite color for them."

"Fragging pervbot," Optimus mutters, but there's no heat to his words. He can't really be upset at his bonded for finding him attractive. Just as he couldn't really blame Spindle for helping them get to this point. Being angry over something that had already happened, something he could not change, that was a waste of effort. And he had so much to get done that he didn't want to waste effort on _anything_.

Megatron nibbles on his headfins, "Now, let's get you modifi-"

He pushes the mech away, "After we make your cloak. It will be _very_ plain. A quick one, since we have enough fabric to just make it for you right away. We can do the modification after that. Then we will do a small modification of my clothing so it fits over that, and we will be fine for working on your clothing. Look at what Spindle has been writing in the datapad. You will order everything we need from Swindle, and make sure he gets it to us as soon as possible."

Sighing, Megatron just shakes his head, "You're going to be very demanding consorts, aren't you? Really, I should have known something was wrong the moment the weaver was just a bit too eager to tell me the proper way to put you in that wrap. It was obvious he was hiding something. I hadn't realized he was mad enough to bond all three of us." He takes Spindle's datapad. "I will order these things for you, my expensive consorts. Be warned that I will expect. . . compensation for this."

Optimus feels himself flush up more as Megatron fondles his aft slowly.

Spindle climbs up them, pressing a kiss to Megatron's mouth, "Ve already know zat. Now you vill sit down at ze com, vhile I sit viz you, and you order ze zings from Swindle. Optimus vill make ze horrible plain cloak zat vill shame all our families until ve get ze better materials. Ve should not even let you com Swindle, but ve can not _help_ it."

Megatron smiles, setting Optimus on the floor and letting him get back to work. "If you say so. I don't understand the big deal, but I will accept anything that you want me to wear, my consorts."

"Good." Spindle perches on his shoulder and wait while Megatron enters the frequency, and Optimus starts taking basic measurements from Megatron's frame. He's a large bot, and there's not much spare fabric. If he messes this up, There will be visible patches on Megatron's cloak and Optimus will simply _offline_ out of shame.

"Megatron," Swindle purrs on the comlink, his tone almost obscenely affectionate, "how is my favorite warlord doing this sol? I told you that you would-" the bot pauses and blinks, "You got bonded." He shakes himself minutely, "Congratulations, Megatron. You've bonded yourself to a weaver," he looks over Megatron's shoulder, "and a Prime. I wasn't expecting that, but I'm sure you must be very happy."

Megatron smiles, letting Optimus move his arm to better measure it, "Of course I am. I am accepted into a weaver clan, as well because of this. How could I be anything but happy?"

Swindle smiles, "Of course, Megatron. Now, what can I get for you this sol? I have a great deal on-"

Megatron transmits the data from the datapad, "My consorts inform me that it is of the utmost importance that I have everything on this list. Is there anything else that you think that would go with that?"

Swindle pauses, checking through it, and then nods, "They certainly _are_ Haydon IV bots, if this is anything to go by." The purple opticked bot tisks at Megatron, "It seems that _somebot_ didn't have a bonding wrap when he really should have." The mech starts typing into a comconsole in front of him, "But I have all that and more, I am sure that they left out several things, since you either have them, or said that you didn't want to get them from me, preferring to have your Decepticons to hunt them down, right? Ignoring that, do you think I could interest you in a sleipnir skull or three?"

Megatron waves a servo dismissively, "I have a dozen. What use would I have for any more? Unless my consorts wish to line the hem of a cloak with skulls, what we have will be more than enough." He traces a finger along Spindle's back, over the bumps and curves of him under his cloak, "I would appreciate something pretty for my consorts. They will be working quite hard on my cloaks. If you have anything you think would interest them, I would appreciate it. They deserve something special. I have no concern over the price."

He can practically hear the sound of credit chips ringing in Swindle's mind, and the greedy, excited look the mech takes on makes Optimus tisk to himself. Greed is the downfall of many bots.

"I think I should show you the things they requested first," Swindle says, his tone syrupy sweet now. "Let them get an idea of the quality of my merchandise before I bring out the special items."

Optimus is scooped into Megatron's lap unceremoniously, large servos brushing his sides, "I know they'll love that." He struggles to get off the mech's lap, wanting to get back to work, but his bonded tweaks his lightbar to make him rev, "Really, Optimus. Just watch him. We want to see what we are ordering. You will need to tell me if anything isn't up to your standards, my consorts. You both have told me that I don't know about clothing, and I already know this. You will tell me what you think about it. I will trust you to keep me well dressed."

He leans back, uncomfortable in how he feels; he needs to get everything done as fast as possible, he hates how his bonded is _naked_. "If you say so.

"I do say so. Show us your merchandise, Swindle." Megatron kisses both of his consorts gently. "We wish to see it now."

Swindle rubs his servos together and opens the obscene compartment in his chest, withdrawing several bolts of cloth. "The finest Ilipsian crystal weave, made of spun crystal fiber reinforced with thin filaments of web from the gossamer metallospiders that live in the caves. I couldn't part with this for cheap, of course. It's one of the most valuable fabrics ever made."

Optimus leans towards the screen, his optics studying the fabric. It _is_ a very rare blend, and the color, a deep reddish purple, compliments Megatron's armor. "We'll take it. The entire bolt."

Megatron shifts uncomfortably under him, most likely noting how much that cost, and pet his sides. "It is very beautiful."

Swindle smiles, clearly thinking they're hooked, "Of course it is, that's why I showed it to you very first." It is carefully placed in a storage box, and another bolt of fabric is shown, "Gyo mesh and Namanth crystal blend, very difficult to produce, but incredibly beautiful when the light hits it just right." The bot shines a light over it, making it shimmer like a rainbow, "And-"

Optimus shakes his head, "No. Too flashy." If they had been bonded to Ultra, it would be different, but this is Megatron. They can't have him wear something like that. "We'll need something darker. Do you have any..." He looks up at the bot, and frowns, "... Purple? You like purple, right?"

Megatron smiles, "I love the color purple. It is one of my favorite colors, in fact. That's why I have it as the color of my brand. Are you planning on using it as one of my cloak colors, my consort?"

He shrugs, "We can do that. If it is your favorite color, then it _should_ be a defining color that you wear."

With Megatron's armor color, though, it should not be the main color. They would use a red, perhaps, or even a rich, deep grey, darker than his paint. Purple would make a lovely accent to either. Swindle holds up a bolt of rich, soft weaver fabric, in a deep purple hue they could never get on Haydon, because the dye for it wouldn't set at such low temperatures. "Ve vill take half a bolt of zat," Spindle declares, and then clicks his mandibles in thought, "und a half cube of ze dye if you have it. New Kaon vill be much varmer zan Haydon IV."

Swindle smiles, "I only have a fourth of a cube left, is that okay?"

Spindle clicks unhappily, but nods, "Ja. Ve vill take all zat is possible."

It goes on like this, Swindle showing off various bolts of fabric, and Optimus and Spindle declaring if they do or don't want them. They finally reach the end, and Swindle pulls out the accessories, and they go through all of those. The crystals are scrutinized with care, and the other decorations looked at just as closely. When they finish, Swindle looks absolutely triumphant, and brings out the most expensive things. The finished, and half-finished, outfits for weavers and truckbots of Optimus's model type.

The first outfit gets a firm rejection. "No. I am _not_ wearing anything with panels that rip away over my sparkplates. It's not even going to be the right size over my . . . modified frame." His lightbar would make the tightly fitted pieces not . . fit properly. "I have plenty of clothes. I am uninterested in finished pieces."

Spindle chitters and dances back and forth on Megatron's shoulder, his optics fixed on something at the edge of the screen. From what Optimus can see, it's a tiny cloak and wrap, in a pale shade of blue. The mech says nothing, but his expression reads pure longing. Megatron notices his looks and gestures at it, "Optimus may not be interested in finished pieces, but I believe Spindle is. What is that cloak?"

Pleasurebots have sounded less charged than Swindle did right then, "Oh, this is a _very_ special cloak, Lord Megatron. It was worn by a very famous weaver Princess. Luckily, femme and mech weavers are generally the same size. It should fit your mech if he wants it." He lifts the cloak and shows off the intricate beadwork that decorates the entire cloak, and the soft, fluffy tufts of sleipnir hair all along the edges.

Megatron runs a finger on Spindle's back, "Put it with the rest of the order."

Swindle smiles, carefully packing it up so it won't be damaged at all, "I normally would offer you a set of finished clothing at this time," The bot hurries on before Spindle or Optimus can protest in anger, "but I know that it is traditional for Haydon IV bots to make their bonded a wardrobe when you did what you did." The mech focuses on Optimus, "Now, since you don't want any fitted clothing, let me see what I have for you."

Optimus cuddles against Megatron, comfortable and happy, "I can't think of anything you could give me. I need to work faster. I have a very great deal to do, and not a lot of time to do it."

Spindle rummages around in that filthy subspace drawer, pulling out two differently sized storage boxes, "Here we are! Something just for you. Restraints that are perfectly fitted for weavers and for spaceshipbots."

Optimus flushes a bit more, his spark pulsing hot and fast. "That is an entirely inappropriate suggestion." No matter how dead-on it is, and how badly he wants it. Perhaps he can purchase it later with his own rather limited credits as a gift for Megatron and Spindle. Well, mostly as a gift for himself. Spindle is not overly fond of chains, and he can't imagine Megatron will let himself be tied more than once a decavorn or so. So disappointing.

"Add it to our tally, Swindle," Megatron says, tone light and amused. "I can't imagine he'll get much use out of them, but his spark feels like it's about to beat its way out of his chamber."

He smiles as Swindle packs it away with everything else. The bot smiles, "There, would you like me to show you anything other than that? I have weaponry that you may like? High grade, some sweets? Things like that?"

Megatron shakes his head, "No, that will be all. We have everything we need. How soon will this all be here?"

Swindle pulls out a datapad, looking through it, "I can get it there in about three sols, or in one sol if you don't mind Lockdown possibly pawing through it all."

"Three sols," Optimus says instantly, "I don't want Lockdown to get his hook all over the fabric and ruining it."

"He does have an alarming tendency to fondle things that do not belong to him," Megatron says thoughtfully.

Optimus frowns, "And he does not get deterred when you beat him. I think he might have _overloaded_ when I fought him and got a bit of revenge for what he did to my students." The mech had certainly writhed all over the floor like he was overloading, even with his face smashed in, several denta knocked out.

Swindle nods, his expression hard to read, "He does enjoy pain and fighting. There's a reason he goes after ninjabots."

It's disgusting. Mostly because the bot forced others to service him. If he wants to satisfy his kink, he should do it with willing partners.

Megatron rubs his side, "Well, I am fine with waiting the extra time, if that is what you want." The bot smiles, "Thank you, Swindle, we have an appointment to get to."

The bot smiles from the other side of the screen, purring out, "Thank _you_, Megatron. You have a very good sol."

Megatron cuts the com, letting the screen go dark, and stands up, "It is time to take you to the medi-"

Optimus puts his servo to the bot's mouth, "It is time to finish measuring our consort for his clothing, and make him his cloak so he is _semi_-decent when he steps out into the hallway. We need to get this done, and then we can go put on the chestplate that shows off my spark."

"Frag," Megatron growls against his servo, pushing it away to drag Optimus against him, servos tight on his frame, "you are going to look so hot with your spark like that. We'll be able to see every single pulse."

His spark pulses in reaction, and Optimus growls right back at him, "Fragging put me down or I _will_ spank you. Strip you to protoform and spank you so you'll actually regret doing it." His spark pulses hotter at the thought of Megatron bent over the berth, peds cuffed to the floor, wrists cuffed to the wall, helpless to anything Optimus wanted to do to his delicate protoform.

Megatron kisses him one last time, then sets him on the berth, "You look so lovely when you're angry, my consort." His servos are taken and kissed, the bot looking at him with dim optics, "How shall I stand for you?"

He pushes the bot into standing straight, "Just hold still. Spindle is better at this than I am. Let him do most of it, and we'll get this done faster."

The bot smiles, "Of course. I can do that. I am more than willing to do anything that speeds up the time we get you to the medical berth and the modification."

He rolls his optics as Spindle starts to call out the measurement, taking notes on a datapad.

* * *

**Please Review**


	20. Chapter 20

It is March 20th as I write this note, and ffdotnet isn't letting me upload this chapter :I

I may upload tomorrow, but I'll try to throughout the day.

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

_He rolls his optics as Spindle starts to call out the measurement, taking notes on a datapad._

They have a passable cloak cut for him within the megacycle, though they could have done it faster if he hadn't stopped them for kisses and aft-groping quite so often. The bot had tried to push them both down and frag them, but they'd managed to avoid it by stabbing a few pins into sensitive joints.

It was unwise to irritate the bots working on your clothing.

Spindle has just finished attaching a quick lace hem all the way around the cloak, and Optimus pulls out one of his largest, oversized cloak pins to secure the cloak in place over Megatron's pointed shoulders. It looks rather good on him, even though it's cheap material and put together so hastily. Megatron has a beautiful figure, so broad and tall, and the pointed shoulders give the plain cloak a fashionable flair and shape.

It will do around the bots that don't know any better, and if they keep him away from anything that might damage it.

Megatron shifts a tiny bit, lifting his arm out of the cloak, "It hinders my ability to move my arm. I asked you not to do that. It was the one thing that I had asked for specifically."

Spindle curls up on Megatron's shoulder, "You vill not be _leaving_ ze base in zis cloak. Ve vill fix zat in ze _good_ _vones _You vill not vorry about it. It vill not be a problem. Ve vill also be modifying zis later." Spindle's voice turns a little sly, "I zought you vanted to go to ze medical bay as soon as possible to have Optimus modified. If you don't, ve can keep vorking on ze cl-"

"No, no. I'm fine with this for now."

"Vonderful, now zat you are not entirely naked." Spindle glances down at him, "You are still showing much of your frame, but ze larger bots usually do. You are passable for now." His legs fold neatly under his body and Optimus can tell that the weaver has locked himself into place by threading his ped tips through the cloak. "Ve vill go to ze medbay now and get meine . . our Optimus modified."

Perhaps agreeing to this hadn't been the wisest choice. He was going to have to wear a chest wrap all the time now. Likely a double-thick one, to block out the light of his spark. It would be a bit hot during the-

"I vant to put you in one of ze whorebot chest vraps," Spindle purrs down at him. "Ze lacy vones zat vill show off your pretty spark."

Megatron's engine roars at that, and he's picked up gently, "I would love to see that, as well. Will we be putting him in that right after he's been modified?"

Optimus gives the mech a dirty look, "_No_. That is purely for private berthroom activity." He moves into a more comfortable position, letting the mech rub his chestplates, "Just like when I put on various attachments in my vehicle mode. _That_ is private berthroom activity."

Megatron's optics light up with interest as they head out the door, "So you will wear that plow attachment I saw if I ask you to?" The bot rubs Optimus's seams, "I have _never_ had a truckbot lover that did that."

Wearing things like that was so very kinky. "If you want me to, I will. I'm willing to experiment with things in the berth." He falls silent as they approach the medical bay, where the large, green and purple medicbot is waiting. His crane arm drapes down his back, and his crane hook twitches restlessly.

"You took a very long time to arrive, my Lord. I was beginning to think you had forgotten." He leans in and examines Optimus, his red visor lighting up curiously, "What sort of modification are we going to be performing? I can think of a number of things you might want to do to the bot." His gaze flickers down to his sparkplates. "Will we be removing his locks?"

He crosses his arms, "I want to be able to lock up."

Spindle's mandibles click in amusement, "You vill not be _able_ to, remember? You are fine, our Optimus." His little love skitters over to him, nuzzling him, "It is fine zat you have no locks, zough. Ve need to be able to get at your spark instantly, anyvay. You know zat. Ve vill be clutching."

He sighs softly, letting his arms drop reluctantly, "I suppose." He still doesn't like it.

Megatron kisses him, setting him gently on the medical berth, "Just replace his chestplates with the one I gave you earlier. You've had time to study it."

"I have," Hook picks up a rather dubious looking piece of equipment, and slides the tip of it under one of Optimus's plates, injecting something into an energon line. "You'll be-"

The world goes completely dark, and the last thing Optimus hears is "Huh. Guess I used too much sedative."

* * *

The sedative is a terrible thing, but Optimus eventually onlines, even if he's a bit groggy at first. The haze eventually clearing from his optics and he blinks, gazing up at his lovers. Both of them have the most lust-filled expressions he's ever seen on them. Optimus pushes himself up and looks down at his chest, flushing with shock at how visible his spark is now.

"This... this is filthy." He looks around for his chestwrap or cloak, but they are nowhere to be seen. "I need to cover up."

Megatron pushes him back down on the berth, "No. You're just fine how you are. I think that I want to have you on my lap in the morning like this. I will pet your lightbar, and everyone will know _exactly_ how hot your spark is as I do it."

He shakes his head, "No." He tries to sit back up, but the bot keeps rubbing and teasing at his chestplates, not letting him move without getting him hotter and hotter.

There's a cough from behind them, "If you don't mind, Lord Megatron, could you please ask if he wants the other mod so I can either work on it or you can clear out of my medbay? I have other patients waiting, and they're not exactly patient about it."

Other mod? "Other mod?" he asks, only then realizing that his peds feel . . . strange. He looks down and tenses, "You . . you modified my peds without my consent?" They're shaped like fragging _seeker_ heels now, complete with faux-thrusters. His wheels have been realigned, moved higher on his legs. He can still drop them down, and he does so immediately, the wheels hiding a bit of the heel mod.

Megatron smiles at him, optics dim, "Spindle said that you told him you had wanted heels when you were younger. That you _still_ wanted heels when you got overcharged. Complained about not having them, in fact. I suggested seeker heels and he agreed."

He twitches as the mech's finger rubs the very rim of the heel, making his leg jerk involuntarily, "You modified me without my consent."

Spindle nuzzles him, "You vanted heels, I got you heels."

He rubs his optics, "I'm going to have to get new boots because of this."

"Sexy new boots," Spindle purrs, dropping down to nuzzle his ped. "Ve vant to do more to you, zough." The tiny mech points to one side, and Optimus looks at the bright red seeker wings laid out on the table.

"No."

Spindle licks his thruster with his tiny glossa, "Please, meine Optimus? You vill look so pretty viz zem. So very pretty. Ve vill not be able to stop touching you."

"They will require an entirely new set of clothes. I don't have time to modify wing wraps and cut holes in all of my cloaks." Optimus bites his lip at their sad expressions, "I will consider doing it later. After we are settled in and we have established peace. Not now."

Megatron rubs his chestplate, "I could cut the holes in your cloaks for you. Or I could have one of my Decepticons do it. It wouldn't be a problem, my consort."

He raises an optic ridge, "And the wing wraps? What about those? I can't make those if I'm making the clothing for you with Spindle."

Megatron's optics dat from him to the wings, then back again, "Scalpel?"

"Are you serious?"

"I want you to wear the wings, Optimus," Megatron kisses him possessively, and then pulls back with a sigh, "But if you will not agree to a permanent mod yet, will you at least agree to a temporary mod?" His fingers stroke down Optimus's back, just below his lightbar. "We can have Hook install panels here for your wings to clip into. You would feel them as if they were truly linked to your systems, but you could take them out and wear your normal cloaks if you like."

Mods like that were _more_ expensive than simple wing attachment mods. And entirely non-functional for flight. There were mods that only _whorebot_ got. "No."

"Not even that?" Megatron looks sparkbroken, "I won't force you to do this. I was just hoping-"

He squirms, "How... how functional are the heels?"

"Purely cosmetic," Spindle murmurs in the way Optimus knows he's lying.

He turns to the medic, "Are they really?"

The bot sighs, "Currently? Yes. I need to do more work on them to get them fully functional, but if I had a little more time, you'd be able to fly with them."

Optimus's spark warms at that, the room brightening visibly, "I will accept the wings," he holds up a finger to keep Megatron from speaking, "if, and only if, I have someone that is small enough, is competent enough, and can actually sew to deal with my cloaks and making the wing wraps. Scalpel doesn't count, since I'm fairly sure that Spindle will get into an argument about clothing with him. I'd ask around and see if any of your smaller Decepticons have clothing they made themselves. If they do, bring them to me so I can talk to them."

The Decepticon frowns, "There is one that fits your requirements, but . . he is one of Oil Slick's minions. Recently arrived here on earth. Do you still wish to see him?"

As bad as having one of Oil Slick's minions might be, Optimus doesn't have much of a choice. He sighs, "Yes. Bring him here and I will speak with him. If I find him acceptable, I will let you mod the wings on me." If he was changing his frame to be more suitable to his lovers' tastes, he might as well go all the way with it. It wasn't like he couldn't learn to fight with a new frame, and most ground bots had dreamed of being capable of flight at some point in their life. "I won't wear anything that makes me look like a prostibot."

Spindle takes out several chestwraps, "Zen ve vill have you vear zis as you talk to him. Ve don't vant him looking at your spark." The little bot nuzzles him, "Too many have already."

Megatron nods, "Hook, you can see to other patients while we talk to Brimstone. We may or may not need your services afterwards. If we do, we can com you, there is no need to detain you further."

The cranebot nods sharply, "I'll be working, then. Thank you, my lord."

The medic leaves before he can be called back, and Megatron turns back to Optimus, kissing him softly, "You will lovely with the wings, my consort. I would have asked Spindle to have some installed on him, but I do not actually have any in his size." The mech sighs, "Unfortunately."

Optimus frowns, "But you had them in _my_ size?"

The bot's optics dim, and engines rev, "I also have clear blue chestplates in seeker sizes." He's given a sad look, "I have yet to get any seeker to accept a mod of those, sadly." The bot smiles, "You are the very first truckbot I have had in my berth that I trusted to have fully functional wings. That I can have fly with me. The first that actually _wanted_ them."

"Did you install the prostibot mod on the others?" Optimus feels naked, even with the chestwrap covering his plates. It is going to take some getting used to. His expression turns suspicious, "How may other lovers have you had?" wondering suddenly if he should have demanded that they all have thorough spark scans.

Megatron chuckles, "I am quite old, Optimus. I do not keep a tally of all the lovers that have graced my berth with their presence." He smiles, "Or my lap. Or desk. You get the idea." Gentle fingers slide over his frame, "Besides, it is rather rude to inquire about the number of lovers a bot has had. How would you feel if I demanded a list of the lovers you have taken?"

He'd feel like Megatron was going to hand that list over to Oil Slick so they could all be offlined.

"We aren't doing that." He moves to better let Megatron pet him, "Where is my hat and cloak?"

The hat is gently placed on his head by Spindle, and the cloak returned by Megatron, "I sent a text to Brimstone. He will be here shortly. I informed him that he was not to tell Oil Slick who ordered him here, only that he was ordered to the medical bay. Not that he should be caught by Oil Slick, since the mech is very likely preoccupied by Blitzwing, but it is better to be cautious."

He adjusts the cloak on his frame, "That is for the best, yes." He feels significantly less naked now, even if he knows that he should have boots on his peds to cover his heels. He adjusts how he's sitting, and rubs the modification cautiously, "I'm not sure I'll be able to walk on these properly."

"You will learn," Megatron reassures him. "We have a training course we set up for ground models here if you wish to practice there. I am confident that within a sol or two, you will have mastered walking on the heels. You are a very adaptable bot." He tweaks one of Optimus's headfins, and Optimus makes a disgruntled noise, shifting the hat to cover the fin again. He wishes Megatron would stop knocking his hat askew so he could do that.

"You are making me look increasingly like a prostibot you've paid to modify himself to your specs, Megatron."

"I am making you look like the truckbot consort I've always wanted if I didn't have a seeker consort, Optimus." The bot's optics dim, "If you were a prostibot I was paying, you would not be allowed the clothing. You are my consort, so I must allow it. I will admit..." the mech's optics drift along his frame, "having you hide your frame away just makes me want you all the more. Especially since I know that you have your spark so very visible just under that length of cloth. I would not say no to you being covered up more, if it meant that I could tug on a lacing, and they just fell away."

He flushes, hating how his spark heats at the thought, "We don't have time to design clothing like that for me right now. We just-"

Megatron rubs his sides, "But if Brimstone can? Would you allow him to do it if he meets your approval?"

"If he meets my approval and can design something that won't just fall off at the slightest touch, then yes, I will let him make that. _After_ he makes the modifications to my wardrobe." Optimus is unwilling to end up with just a few slutty tops that lace up the sides or the front and have nothing else that will fit over his wings. The wingwraps will already need to be laced. Wraps for flight models are generally designed to fall away if the bot transforms into their altmode. Modesty is a hindrance when it keeps a bot from being capable of flying. Now, if that bot chooses to stay on the ground in their alt, they are expected to have some bot lace the wraps back onto them.

Megatron kisses him, "Brimstone is an artist, I am sure you will love what he makes for you."

He shrugs, "If you say so."

Megatron smiles, "I do." The bot sits on the berth with him, tugging him on his lap and starting to play with his peds, "You look so lovely like this, and the wings will just complete the look. I am glad that you are willing to try this. I would be very sad if I had a consort that outright refused to think of wingmods."

He bites his lower lip as the bot toys with the thruster heel, making pleasure shoot straight to his spark, "I... I like the idea of flying." No one wants to be stuck on the ground, no matter what the most stubborn of older Autobots say.

"Most bots do," Megatron hums, lifting a ped up high enough that he can lick the thruster heel, glossa dipping into the turbine. Optimus shudders, his ped twitching, as if unsure whether to pull away from the delicious torment or push towards it. "It is too bad you will insist on covering these up. You would look gorgeous with them showing."

Optimus isn't willing to look so very obscene in public unless he has to. "It's b-better . . nngh. . to keep covered. The humans like us m-more, and," he trails off, losing his train of thought as Megatron nips at the thruster, his denta pressing on the sensitive rim of the turbine. Optimus feels his spark throb, and then feels tiny servos slide up under his hat to massage his headfins.

He mewls softly, and Spindle leans over to kiss him. "You look so pretty like zis, our Optimus. Ve need to take time to play viz your frame, ja?"

He whines, pushing into the touch, "W-when will B-Brimstone be here to talk to?"

Megatron shrugs, "Soon? I will not remove your chestwrap, you don't have to worry, my consorts. Your modesty will be intact. I am not going to overload you in the medical bay just yet."

Spindle's optics narrow, "Just yet?"

Megatron chuckles, "It _is_ my medical bay. I plan on having you everywhere I can."

Optimus flushes, "He wants to chase me down and take me wherever he catches me."

Spindle clicks his mandibles, "I vill not play viz you in such a vay, but I vant it recorded. I vill enjoy vatching it viz you boz aftervards." He glances towards the door, and then admits, "I vould play, but you vould catch me immediately. I am not build for ze speed. Now, if ve vere to play a hiding game, I vould vin, and zen demand zat you boz vere my berztoys for ze rest of ze sol."

A loud roar from both of their engines answer the little mech.

Spindle looks very pleased, "Ve can do zat vhen everyzing is calmer, zen. I vill look forvard to it, meine bondeds."

Optimus reaches up and pets Spindle softly, "Love you."

The mech pauses in his stroking of his headfins, then smiles, rubbing their foreheads together, "I love you, too. Ve are going to be so happy togezer, ja? Ve are _finally_ bonded, und ve have Megatron viz his lovely big spark perfect for sparklings. He has been rubbing it on Allsparkshard, too. Ve vill have no trouble clutching viz him over und over."

"I don't think we should clutch until we are settled on New Kaon and there is peace. I want our sparklings to come online to a universe at peace," Optimus says, holding Spindle against his chest. War does terrible things to sparklings. He doesn't want them shaped by fear or low energon supplies. "Then we can invite your clan to come to New Kaon and we can clutch there."

Megatron arches an optic ridge, "Just how many sparklings do you intend to create with us, Spindle?"

The weaver clicks his mandibles together thoughtfully, "You are _very_ big. Bigger zan any ozer bot zat a veaver has ever sparked viz. You vill be able to carry much more zan any ozer bot has, so I could not-"

Megatron takes off Spindle's hat, teasing an antenna, "An estimate would be needed. I know that weavers have more than normal, but I don't know exactly. It is kept a secret, and I have never gotten it out of Scalpel. I think I should be allowed to know if I am going to be carrying for you now, don't you agree?"

Spindle shudders in pleasure, chirruping happily, and pushing into the touch, "Tvice as many as Optimus?"

Optimus doubts that it will only be twice as many. He will be clutching only with Spindle, but Megatron will be sharing his spark with several other clan members, all of whom have a chance of sparking with him. "Each clutch has five to twelve sparklings," Optimus says quietly enough that any recording devices won't pick it up. "I will be having a clutch with Spindle. You . . well, I assume you will end up with at least four clutches."

Megatron just blinks for a moment, and then touches his sparkplates, "That many? I do not have room for that many sparklings inside me, Optimus."

Optimus holds up Spindle, "Each sparkling is tiny. Only about the size of his claw."

Megatron inspects Spindle closely, then kisses his tiny gloved servos, "I see. Well..." The bot smiles, "I have _always_ wanted a large family, and this will mean that I will have the largest one possible."

Spindle clicks his mandibles together, incredibly pleased, "Good. You vill not be getting out of it, anyvay. You are going to be clutching viz us, and ve know zat you vill be attracting ze clan much more zan Optimus."

Had he been the only bot to bond to Spindle, they would have likely tried to cram two or three clutches into his chamber, and Optimus would have been very uncomfortable. This way is far preferable. Megatron has the room to support all the tiny sparklings that the clan will demand of them. Weavers are a demanding model type, and they only grow more demanding during clutching time. Optimus fully expects that they will restrain Megatron during the clutching so they can use his spark however they please, to maximize the number of clutches the bot ends up carrying for them.

Optimus is more than willing to help tie the bot down.

* * *

**Please Review**

Like I said up top, it is March 20th as I write this author's note. I'm not really able to upload it right now since ffdotnet keeps giving me errors when I try. I don't know when this will be up.**  
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	21. Chapter 21

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

There is a soft knock at the door, and Megatron smiles. "That would be Brimstone." Optimus is arranged into a slightly less embarrassing position, and the bot says, "You may enter, Brimstone."

The bot that enters is not what Optimus expected at all. He is certainly a Decepticon, all spikes and awkward looking frame, but very small and fragile as well. The bot has tiny little claws and a split wheel in his servos. Optimus has never seen a mech with two elbows in each arm, or two knees in each leg. The mech has a wheel in his torso, and the smallest sparkchamber he's ever seen that wasn't on a weaver. The mech licks his odd mouth and says, "You told me to come here, my lord?"

"Yes, Brimstone. I understand that your planet uses clothing for decoration?" Megatron strokes Optimus's frame lightly, and Spindle climbs up onto his shoulder. "I would like you to show us a few of the things you've created. Optimus has been considering a wing modification, but if you cannot construct a reasonable wardrobe for him and modify the things he owns, he will not consent to it." Megatron's tone lowers a bit, into something almost like a threat, "I am sure that I can trust in your ability to convince him of your skill."

Brimstone looks disappointed, but nods. "I'm not as good as a Haydon IV bot," the mech warns, reaching into his subspace, "but I can weave and sew." The bot takes out a few sets of chest wraps that are clearly meant for a Cybertronion frame, "I haven't made any for my new altmode yet, since I haven't been wearing clothing unless visiting my home planet. I only just got here, anyway." The bot takes out a few hats and a cloak and boots. "I don't make gloves, but I can learn if you want me to. I never really had a reason to use them." The bot waves his servos, showing off why, spinning the split wheels, "Fragging difficult to transform if I have on gloves."

Spindle looks at the clothing they're shown, humming thoughtfully, "Are you sewing zese by servo?"

The mech shifts, "Some of them? I mean, I don't have any equipment here. No expanded subspace."

"No? You should invest in one." Optimus sighs, "Your work is good enough. I will . . . accept the wing mod. Schedule an appointment with Hook." He turns to Brimstone, "I expect to online to a completed wing wrap and at least one altered cloak and chest wrap. I recommend that you start immediately. I will _not_ be happy if I online and find that I have to go naked." Especially with his modified chest plate. "Get to work." He lays back on the medical berth and sighs. "I'm still not sure that agreeing to the modifcation is the right thing to do. Wingmods are permanent modifications. He'll need to rip out most of my relays to get the wings seated properly."

Megatron kisses him as Spindle hurries over to Brimstone, pulling out various fabrics to use for the clothing. Megatron murmurs softly in his audio, rubbing his sides, "But you will be able to fly with me, my bonded, and I know exactly how to make you overload with just the wings. You will keep them covered up, and that will keep them extra sensitive to my touches when we take you to the berth."

He revs a tiny bit, blushing, "I'm glad you're seeing the bright side to the clothing."

Megatron kisses him, "I am willing to have the wing wraps, since I can just tug on a lacing, to make it fall away to the floor. You will be so lovely at my side, my consort."

Another klik or two of waiting, and Hook comes into the room, narrowing his optics at Spindle and Brimstone working with fabric on the floor. "Wonderful. You've brought even more mechs into my medical bay. How may I serve you this sol?"

Megatron picks up the wings and offers them to Hook, "Optimus will be having these permanently installed into his frame. You may begin whenever you are ready. Please use less sedative this time." The medic takes the wings and Optimus rolls onto his front, undoing his chest wrap carefully, so Brimstone cannot see his clear chestplates. He does not want that reported back to Oil Slick.

Hook rolls his optics, adjusting the amount of sedative, "Should I work on the heels so they're fully functional, as well?"

Optimus peers over his shoulder, lifting up his leg, "Yes, I'd like that."

Megatron revs happily, rubbing his lightbar so his spark pulses brightly, "Good. Maybe we can go flying after you have everything installed? I'd love to-"

He gives the mech a dark look, "Not in that outfit you aren't. You'll shame us all. We need to make you better clothing."

Hook injects the sedative into his fuel line, "You can talk about this later, I have things to do."

His processor goes foggy, and he knows no more.

* * *

Onlining this time is a strange experience. His systems all tingle, and a dozen alerts warn him that new operating software and code have been installed in him. He shifts a bit, and his wings-his _wings_-tremble on his back. Optimus jerks upright, forgetting for a moment that he had agreed to this. Strong servos catch him, and hold him like the most precious crystal ever created. He relaxes in Megatron's grasp. "I . . sorry. I forgot where I was. The wings are . . disorienting." They keep sending him all sorts of signals that he wasn't aware were important. Wind speed and direction. The temperature of the air and the humidity.

His ailerons flex back and forth restlessly.

Megatron presses a kiss to the base of them, and he shivers with the sudden sensory rush. Megaton smiles, "You look so beautiful, Optimus. Absolutely beautiful. Would you like to put on the clothing Brimstone and Scalpel made for you?"

His wings shudder, moving away from the thought of having things on them, "I... I don't know if..." He rubs his optics, "They're so _sensitive_." He isn't sure how he's going to concentrate if they're constantly being touched by cloth.

Megatron smiles, rubbing the edge, as if to just watch him shiver in pleasure, "I know, my consort. Isn't it wonderful? We will have to get you used to it, but for now, just enjoy it."

He sits up, and there's a seeker in the medical bay.

A seeker.

Starscream, staring right at him.

"The trick to wearing wraps on your wings is keeping the fabric tight enough that it doesn't rub against your sensors," Starscream says primly, his optics not even looking at Optimus's nervously pulsing spark. "Megatron was wise enough to ask me for my help. I know much better than that silly Brimstone how to properly dress a seeker, even if their frame is truckbot-based." He picks up a long length of cloth and begins tightly wrapping it around one of Optimus's wings.

He relaxes into the touch, his sensors no longer pinging him nervously about things he doesn't understand, and he offlines his optics happily. The mech's movements may be rough, but his claws are gentle and soothing, not the least bit painful. When he's all wrapped up, he looks around, "Where is Brimstone?"

Starscream sits next to him, putting on the chestwrap, "Sunstorm took off with him. He wants clothing, and Brimstone agreed to teach him how to make it. Sycophant has had his optics on your little minibot for awhile, and has decided this is the perfect opportunity." The mech moves Spindle away from them, adjusting Optimus's hat to a more pleasing angle to a seeker's optic, "Wants to look his best, and doesn't realize that he hasn't got enough fabric to do it. He'll be back soon enough, and we'll get him a loom and raw materials."

"Do seekers weave?" he asks, because most of the seekers on Haydon-and there were very few of them-paid others to weave for them. They did a bit of sewing and a little bit of servo-woven lace, but nothing complex, and they all seemed to despise looms. In fact, they often chose to buy machine-made fabrics, because the symmetry was more perfect. "More importantly, does he intend to stay in his earth mode?"

Starscream sneers, "I hope not. If he does, I am going to have to have words with him about what is appropriate for seekers to do around other bots. We do not keep organic-created forms. That is just disgusting."

Megatron tugs him into his large lap, "I think you look fine in your current form, Starscream, even if you do look much better with your sharp points and curves in your Cybertronion mode." Optimus is kissed gently, "This is why you have the classic seeker wings, my consort. I do love them so very much."

Starscream makes a face, "And he got you to put on the clear chestplate without the metal backing. He never got me to do that, even as a temporary mod. I could never do that."

Megatron rubs Optimus's chest, optics dim, "The model type onlines without the metal backing. It is put on by medicbots that don't want sparklings showing off their sparks. I wonder if our sparklings will be little truckbots or not."

"Nein," Scalpel purrs, stroking Megatron's cheek. "Zey vill not. Veaver code is dominant. Ze sparklings ve spark vill be veavers." He tips his head to one side, "If you vere to spark viz Optimus, you might have a truckbot. But I doubt it. Spaceship code also tends to be dominant. If a sparkling vas to online viz flier code but vizout a frame to support zat flight, it vould not survive vell. Even I know zat."

Starscream is silent for a moment, and then he say, his tone sorrowful, "If a seeker sparkling onlines without wings, we attempt to mod them. If the mods do not take . . then we allow the sparkling a peaceful offlining. It is more compassionate than the insanity they would suffer and the self-harm they inflict when they get old enough to know sky-hunger."

Optimus puts a cautious servo on the bot's arm, unsure if the comfort is welcome, and murmurs softly, "It doesn't happen often, and you've been able to mod almost all of them." Even he knows that, stuck out on the far edge of the galaxy on Haydon IV.

Starscream picks up Spindle, petting him with a clawtip gently, a soothing gesture Optimus knows well, "Yes... it is still." The mech looks away, but allows Megatron to tug him close and hold him.

Sparklings are a sensitive subject, and it is clear that Starscream feels more than a little left out of the conversation.

Optimus changes the subject, hoping to distract, "What all did Brimstone make for the clothing?"

"You vere out for some time, so ve had long enough to modify zree of your cloaks, five of your chestvraps, and he made two ving-vraps for you." Spindle drops to the floor and pushes a pile of cloth towards him. "He also made you a pair of boots, but zey are slut boots," Spindle says dismissively, "Und he made zem so zey flare out and show off little flashes of your peds as you valk, like a prostibot advertising his vares." Spindle plucks at the boots with disdain, "I do not zink you should vear zem unless you vant to be zought of as a shameless hussy."

He sighs softly, "They're all I have, Spindle. Besides, Megatron likes to carry me. I won't have to worry about flashing my heels as I walk, since he'll be carrying me around as I wear them."

Spindle huffs irritably, "I do not like it. Ve vill make you better vones as soon as possible. I can not allow you to go out like zat. It is simply shameless."

He pulls out one of the cloaks, frowning at it, "Why does this have lace up sides now in addition to the holes for my wings?" He has _no need_ for lacing on the side of a cloak, no one does. It opens in the front, and you put it on and off like that. There is no need for a way to open it on the sides like that, even if they can be unlaced to slip over his wings.

Megatron kisses him, "So it matches the chestwraps he modified, of course. You can see on the one you're wearing now that it has the lacing up the sides, like we talked about. I can just tug on one of the laces," the bot does so, "and there it goes." The mech's optics dim as Optimus's spark is exposed again. "So lovely."

No wonder Spindle is accusing him of looking like a hussy.

He does.

Optimus grabs at the wrap and laces it back up carefully. "You are a pervert. I have my wings and my chestplate. Now I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain. We are going to work on your clothes now, and you are not going to complain, and you are not going to try and toss me in a berth immediately. We have work to do, and we can interface later."

Megatron makes a small protesting sound, "But that can wait until we have the better fabric, can't it? We have time to-"

He shifts his wings, trying to figure out how to put on his cloak, "We need to modify the one you have on to see how to best make it so you're most maneuverable. You said you didn't like how it restricted your arm, so we need to fix that. You are not allowed to complain about this, remember? That was the deal."

"We have three solar-"

"We have very little time, and I want to have this done. I want to have a workable outfit for you to wear for your negotiation with Ultra. You need to have that soon, so I want to have one for you by tomorrow. That means I have to cobble together one for you out of what I have with me."

There is exactly one cloak that he can make with what he has, and it is a cloak he has sworn he would never commit himself to making.

The cloak is so intricately beaded, laced, and decorated that he can make it out of dozens of smaller bolts of cloth without it being noticed, but he is going to stab his optics out with frustration before he's done, and Spindle is going to end up offlining them both to put them out of their misery.

Megatron likely won't notice at all.

Optimus already feels a processor-ache coming on. "Let's get you in the room so we can start fitting you for the cloak."

Megatron gently finishes putting his cloak on him, adjusting it and slipping his hood over his hat, "If that's what you want. I am more than willing to let you." The mech takes the boots Brimstone made, and laces them up. "I just wish you would let me undress you when we get into our berthroom, my consort."

He lets the mech put his other boot on, frowning in disapproval, "That is not happening."

Megatron smiles, kissing him and picking him and Spindle up, "Can't blame me for trying, my bonded."

He can and he does. Optimus pulls Spindle closer and mutters into his audio, "We're making him a Brixian Web cloak."

Spindle gasps with dismay, "Nein! Ve vill not. I refuse to vork on vone of zose. You vill have to do it yourself, meine Optimus. I vill-"

"You are going to braid the sleipnir hair into decorative cord and weave what's left of my crystal beads into a fringe." He's not letting Spindle wiggle his way out of this one. "It's going to be a hooded version of the cloak as well. I am going to delegate weaving the gold thread in to you." The patterning would be too small for Optimus to easily do.

Spindle whines unhappily, "Nein, nein, nein, nein! I vill not do it! It vill be ze offlinigng of ze boz of us, und if vill be all your fault. I vill not do it."

Megatron kisses them, "Is something wrong, my consorts?"

Spindle hits his tiny servos against the bot's mouth, "You just _had_ to be so high ranking, didn't you? Vhy didn't you have any _good_ fabric here? Ve can not do zis. Ve can not."

Megatron gives them a confused look as they head through the hallways, "I don't understand what you mean. I am on a planet that no one has every been on before this. You are lucky we even had what you made what I'm wearing. It is very comfortable, and I could just-"

"You vould shame us is anyvone saw you in zis. You vill not be leaving ze berzroom as ve vork. You need to be zere to stay for fittings, anyvay."

"You Haydon bots have such strange rules," Megatron says, his tone amused. "But I will humor you both for now. If you insist on dressing me, then I will allow you to dress me. You do not have to -"

"We have to make it perfect, or we will shame both ourselves and you," Optimus says angrily, pushing Megatron onto the berth. "You will sit quietly while we work. You can have a datapad to read." He pulls one from his subspace, on the various cuts of cloaks and when they are to be worn by which models. "Read that. At least you'll learn something while we work on your cloak."

Megatron pulls out a much larger datapad, "I will read thi-"

He pushes his datapad into Megatron's servos, "You will read _this_, and you will learn something about cloaks."

The mech pauses, then carefully transfers the data over to the larger pad, "Very well, I will read that. But I will read it on something that is better suited for my size." The bot leans over, kissing him gently, "You look lovely, Optimus."

He gives the bot an irritated look, and starts to spread out the various bolts of fabric they need to sew together. "Compliments mean nothing when I have work to do."

* * *

Rage blinds Optimus, and he snarls, throwing a bolt of cloth on the ground, "You fragging aft! I can't believe you're making me make this for you! I'm going to take this sewing needle and stab it in your optics!" He waves the needle around wildly, starting to lunge towards Megatron, who is blinking at him with surprise-only to be stopped by terribly familiar voices from the com.

"Sparkling! I can't believe you got bonded and didn't tell us!"

He pauses his attack, looking over at the com over his wings, "Papas?"

They gasp, "Sparkling! Your bonded... How could you let him wea-"

"_Frag!_" he curses, shoving Megatron out of the room, "Out, out, out, out! I told you that you can't be seen like this, but you insist on shaming us, anyway!"

His bonded has spent the entire sol dealing with him sewing tiny and intricate beadwork onto large bolts of fabric, all the while dealing with how it hangs properly on his large frame. Then had to deal with a sudden attack with a sewing needle. Megatron had long since passed the time he dealt with this with amusement, and took this for the escape it is, rushing for the door he is finally allowed out of.

"Did we raise you wrong, sparkling?" Papa Steelbolt asks, his expression terribly sad. "Why would you not invite your own creators to your bonding? We had to be told by Oil Slick that you had engaged in a triple-bond with Lord Megatron and Spindle. How could you do this to us?"

Optimus rubs his optics wearily, "It was . . not like that. I onlined after being botnapped, and my wrap was ripped to shreds. You know how it goes. I am now bonded to them both. If I'm lucky, he'll agree to a small public ceremony later, and if he does, you'll both be guests of honor. I promise you that, papas. Until then," he feels tears of frustration welling up in his optics, "I am making him a Brixian Web Cloak. He has no suitable fabrics and I . . papas, I am not . . ."

"Shush, sparkling," Papa Powerdrive hushes him, tone sympathetic. "You can manage it. You just have to take it one patch at a time."

Spindle climbs up on his shoulder, chirping unhappily, "Ve have been vorking nonstop, und are almost done. Ve only have about zree patches to go, und ve are done. I have been vorking on his chestvrap, since I have finished his hat, but I am not going to be happy about zis. I do not vant to keep _vorking_ on zis/ Ve have gone on all night, and zen ze _seekers_ showed up-"

Papa Steelbolt gives them a confused look, "You had seekers show up? How could they have-"

Optimus rubs Spindle's side for a moment before moving him to his arms to cuddle, "They came in to help. We had to send them _away_, papas. I hate this stupid tradition that we can't accept help for dressing our bonded. We will offline if we have to make everything ourselves."

"There are two of you. You will survive." Papa Steelbolt pauses, and then adds more compassionately, "You are allowed to buy pre-made things, so long as you modify them significantly afterwards. It is how your Papa and I managed to keep each other clothed during the first vorn of our bond. We visited the thrift stores frequently and then modified the cloaks and wraps we purchased. It will save you significant time, if that is still a concern for you, sparkling." He sighs, "I suppose that your . . that Megatron did not have a bonding cloth? That makes it a bit more difficult, but you should still be able to modify old things for him and have it count."

He cuddles Spindle, and his tiny love clutches him unhappily, "We will be getting actual fabric that will fit him soon. I-it will be easier then." He clambers into an oversized chair, made for Megatron, not for a bot his size at all, "I'm just glad that we can use things that he's hunted or that his Decepticons have gotten for him. He's also bought Spindle an outfit, but he won't be able to wear it until the vorn is over."

Spindle peeks his head out, mandibles clicking in excitement, "It is so pretty, I vill look so nice. I can not vait."

Papa Powerdrive tilts his head, "Did he get you an outfit?"

He shakes his head, "You can already see what he got me, papas." He shakes his wings, drawing attention to them, and smiles, "And thruster heels. I can fly." He doesn't mention the restraints, since _that_ is not something he is going to mention to his creators. Ever.

Steelbolt and Powerdrive exchange a look, "You know, if it was less than consensual, we can offer you asylum on our planet, and have your bonding-"

"No. We are going to negotiate a peaceful end to the war and then clutch with Spindle's clan." Optimus looks down shyly, "We'll make sure you have lots of grandsparklings to love, papas. I'm sure you'll both be welcome if you want to visit New Kaon, when we move there. I hope you come visit us. I don't know how often I'll be able to come visit you, since that will mean leaving my family behind, and any duties that I have as his consort."

"Are you sure, sparkling?" Steelbolt looks very firm, "I am more than willing to come kick his aft for you."

He shakes his head, still feeling stressed by the beadwork, "No. I... Just let me sit with you for awhile. We need to finish this, and I just..."

Steelbolt touches the screen, "I'll send you lace, sparkling. You can have as much as you need. I'm glad that you have so much beading. How did you manage to get so much on such a short notice?"

Optimus rubs his optics, "There's a lab here. His scientists have been working on _that_ instead of other things. It is melted crystals and mixed metals with silicates and other things. We're doing rather well, and getting it done quickly. Like Spindle said, about three left, then we're finished."

"Yes, you're doing wonderfully," Steelbolt reassures him, and then adds, "I wonder why you decided on a Brixian Web Cloak. Considering his status as a warrior leader, I would have expected you to make a Kaonite war cloak. A bit provocative and indecent by our standards, certainly, but it would have been acceptable considering his heritage. You-"

The rest of his papas words trail off as Optimus stares blankly at the floor, his optics lubricating.

He could have made a war cloak.

It would have been a patchy mess intentionally, meant to show that the bot had been through many battles, and it would have taken two megacycles.

Tops.

He bursts into sobs.

Spindle soothes him, nuzzling him lovingly, "It is okay, Optimus. Ve are just tired. Ve can make him a var cloak _later_. Ve are doing zis to have him vear for ze negotiations, remember? Ve can _not_ have him go out into public forums in a _var_ cloak and negotiate _peace_!"

He wipes at his optics, still feeling terrible, "It is _symbolic_ and you know it. It just means that he is used to fighting, and that he will be fighting hard in his terms. Not even Ultra does very well against the hologram, I bet he does even better than that thing. I mean, I only got as good as terms as I did against it, since I'm a model type he likes. All _my_ advantages are gone since I'm bonded to him now."

"Not all of them," Powerdrive chides him. "There are many things a bondmate can do to make a bot's life more or less pleasant. You will find that you should have amazing leverage when it comes to berthroom activities and-mmph," he frowns at Steelbolt, who has a servo clamped over his mouth.

"Our sparkling does not need to hear about how you make me barter for things in the berth, Powerdrive. You should not encourage this behavior in him either."

Optimus bites his lip and tries to clear that image from his processor. It's almost as bad as when he onlined to find that Oil Slick's creators had left them a pad on safe bondage practices. "Thank you for the advice, but please don't offer any more."

Spindle's mandibles click together thoughtfully, "Ve vill keep zat in mind, zough." The weaver cuddles him, "But Megatron seems to like to spoil us, ja?"

The mech had been constantly trying to ply them with various expensive energon treats, and asking their opinions on what expensive things they had wanted. It would have been very wonderful, if they hadn't been so busy working on the cloak. "He does. I think he likes that I was willing to do this," he doesn't say his wings, not wanting to explain to his creators about it, "and he _did_ say he wants a large family, which weavers make a certainty."

Spindle moves up, kissing him, "He is a _good_ bonded."

His creators sigh, "I'm glad you finally accepted Spindle. The weavers are a very wonderful clan." Powerdrive frowns, "Even if you are also bonded to Megatron. I hope it works out for you, sparkling. I don't want you to end up miserable."

"I won't." Optimus won't let himself be too miserable. He always has Spindle, and he'll end the war. That is enough to celebrate, even if he shares no love with Megatron, and is uncertain if he'll ever love him.

He's uncertain if he even loves Spindle. But he cares for the bot enough to want to be with him and make a family. He will tell the bot he loves him, because it makes Spindle happy. Besides, his spark does warm at the thought of his little love in his arms, and that is enough for him.

Steeldrive nods, "As much as we want to talk to you longer, sparkling, we really can't. It is incredibly expensive to com you from so far away. We love you."

He presses his servo to the screen, "I love you, too." He smiles as they disconnect the call, then sighs down at the cloak, "I don't want to do this anymore."

Spindle nuzzles him, "Ve can do zis, meine Optimus. Ve are almost finished. Vhen ve are done, ve can just sit on Megatron's lap und let Ultra Magnus deal viz him vhile being petted und told how vonderful ve are."

Being praised and massaged does seem like a very suitable reward, but he still doesn't want to go back to work. He sighs, and nods, "Let's do this."

* * *

**Please Review**


	22. Chapter 22

OH GOD, FINALLY CAN UPLOAD. SORRY ABOUT THE DUMP, BUT HERE YOU GO. FFDOTNET HAS BEEN HATING ME FOR THE LAST TWO DAYS.

Porn has been cut from this chapter, guys :V Check out my livejournal or tumblr.

Transformers belongs to Hasbro

* * *

The cloak is magnificent when they finish it, even if Optimus can see thousands of little flaws and bits of shoddy workmanship. It is suitable for Megatron to wear, and Optimus summons the mech back into the room. "Put this on," he orders, offering up the cloak. Megatron takes it, rubbing his servos along the delicate beading and needlework covering the many panels of cloth.

"This is stunning. I cannot believe that you made it in a single sol." He drapes it over his shoulders, the hood resting on his back, securing the front with a simple cloakpin that Optimus had made out of bits of other pins that he'd welded together and rolled in melted crystal to make the welds look intentional.

Optimus rubs his optics, wanting nothing more than to fall into recharge - Spindle already recharging under his hat- and says, "I'm going to go ..." He rubs his optics again, then shakes his head, "You need to com the Magnus and arrange a peace treaty talk."

Megatron scoops him into his arms, kissing him lovingly, "We've already arranged for one. I want you with me, my consort. You spent so much time working on this, it is only fitting that you are there as I show it off." The bot gives him a soft, almost loving, look, "You can recharge on my lap, my consort. I would like that a very great deal."

He cuddles close, wings trembling with exhaustion, "Y-you can't take off any of my clothes when I recharge. If you do, I'll never recharge in your lap ever again."

"I wouldn't betray your trust like that. I just want the Magnus to see that you are both mine now. That you trust me enough to recharge on my lap while I speak with him." He pinches Optimus's aft playfully, "_Afterwards_, we can play with your new wings and see if Spindle objects to being tied to your spark."

That was utterly filthy, using Spindle like a toy, tying him to Optimus's spark . . and it sounds absolutely delicious. Not that he'll admit it to either of them. "After, we can all recharge together and save our energy for the peace negotiations. They are far more important than getting an overload or two."

Megatron kisses him, "I told you, after. You will not have to worry, my consort." The mech walks in front of the mirror, turning around, "Do I look good, my bonded?"

Even in his tired state, he can still pinpoint all the terrible bits that he messed up on the cloak, but that will be hidden as long as the mech sits down. Other than that, it hangs perfectly on his bonded's frame, and he is very proud of it. He nods, cuddling closer, and pulling Spindle into his arms, "You do."

Megatron rubs his side, optics dim, and walks out the door, "I think that I do not deserve you, my consorts. I looked up the price of this type of cloak, fully made, and I am ... astounded at the cost. You just made it for me in a sol, because you wanted me to look good. I will do my very best to keep to those standards for you."

"Thank you," Optimus says drowsily, curling up against him. He is so very tired now. "Call Ultra and settle on a time and place for the negotiations. I am . . going to trust you and take a stasis nap." He pulls Spindle against his chest, kissing the little bot's head, "I think Spindle will," he smiles, "I think he already has drifted into recharge. Poor thing." Optimus lets his own optics fall offline, and the rest of his systems follow shortly after.

* * *

Optimus wakes up to someone nibbling on his wings, and he slaps irritably at them, onlining his optics when he's answered with an angry chirp of sound. Spindle glares at him. "Zat vas not nice at all. I vant you to apologize, meine Optimus. I vas tasting you."

He gives his little lover an irritated look, "And _I_ am trying to recharge. You can apologize to me."

Spindle bristles, "I vill do no such zing. You need to-"

There's a low rumble of a chuckle, that is felt under him more than heard, and he suddenly realizes he's on Megatron's chest. Looking around, he notices that they're in the throne room again, and the large bot has one leg over an arm of the chair. The mech rubs his back, "You can go back to recharging, my consort. I was enjoying watching you. Your wings twitch just like a seekers when you do. It is very lovely."

"Pervert," he says, but it's without any heat. He can't get upset with Megatron for finding him attractive, or for loving the wings he asked to have installed. "I am very cross with Starscream for seeing me with my new chestplate, and even more upset with Oil Slick for _tattling_ on me to my creators. I am not in any mood to indulge you, you pervert."

Spindle nibbles on a wingtip again, and Optimus twitches it out of his reach. Spindle hisses and grabs at the wing, tugging it back down. "Nein. Stop pulling zis avay from me."

He moves it again, this time pushing Spindle away with his servo, "You can nibble on them when we're in our berthroom. They won't even be wrapped up then."

The mech tries to reach for him again, only to be stopped by Megatron, "Let him recharge. He has to go through the peace negotigations with me later, remember?"

Spindle clacks his mandibles, "Ze Magnus should not have done zat. Ve are your bonded. As such, ve should not be put into such positions. He can not declare-"

"Optimus _is_ a Prime, and he _is_ the Magnus. He is allowed to demand that..." Megatron's optic twitches, and his denta grind together, "_my consort_ be the one to negotiate with me."

He hopes Ultra has not stressed that fact too hard. As Magnus, he _still_ has the right to order Optimus into his berth, despite the fact that Optimus is bonded formally to two mechs. Anything short of a sparkbond is overridden by the Magnus's right to do as he pleases with his Primes. Megatron would not welcome any reminders of that fact. Ultra Magnus would never do it, but the fact that he _can_ must not be sitting well with Megatron.

He presses a kiss to Megatron's mouth, "I will talk to him about it. I will not be doing the negotiating. He is the only one equipped for it, and I am to be at your side."

Megatron's optics dim, rubbing his back, "Such a wonderful consort I have." The mech rubs Spindle's back, "Two of the best bots possible for consorts. I could not have gotten any luckier." The bot kisses him, flicking his glossa into Optimus's mouth, then pressing his mouth against Spindle's mandibles. "And making me the best clothing I've ever seen. I don't think that I want any other type. It is lovely and wonderful. I'd say all of them should have beading like this when you make it for me, but that would ruin the reason for all the various types of fabric we ordered."

"If you expect us to make everything like this, I will offline you myself," Optimus says sweetly, pressing a kiss to Megatron's neck cabling. "I will just reach into your spark chamber and crush your spark to spare myself the torment of making you dozens of cloaks like this one."

Megatron chuckles, tipping his helm back to allow better access to his neck cabling. "I will keep that in mind, sweetspark. It's very disappointing that you won't, but I understand." He squeezes Optimus's aft lightly, "We will simply do other things. Make other cloaks."

He nibbles on the neck cabling, "Your next one will be a war cloak, to show that you are a warrior. it will take much less time than this one did. We can even decorate it with sleipnier skulls later on. It will show off how skilled you are at attacking things."

Megatron's engine rumbles under him, and the bot hums agreeably, "If that is what you wish. I don't have any with me, but I am more than willing to provide them when we return to New Kaon, my consort." The mech rubs him gently across his large sparkplates, "I know it is more than a little foolish to ask this, but..." Megatron trails off, servos rubbing his frame possessively.

"But?" Optimus nips at him, curious.

"My Decepticons see you like this, and how you are kissing me. They will want you to ride my spark for them. Are you willing to do it?"

The culturally sensitive thing would be to agree-from what little they know of Decepticon culture, public interfacing is an important part of it. It shows dominance, love, or happiness. Optimus expects this interface would be a combination of all three; dominance over a Prime and a weaver, love for them, and pure, whole-sparked happiness.

But he can't do it. His own cultural taboos run too deep. Optimus shifts, deeply uncomfortable even making the offer, "I . . I could lick your spark if you wanted." And Primus help him if any rumors of that got back to Haydon IV.

Megatron kisses him, "No. It would not be the same thing at all. You are my consorts, not a lapbot that I use just for pleasure. Our first public overloads would have to be spark interfacing, or it doesn't carry the same connotations." The mech pinches his lightbar, servo sneaking under his cloak, "We can wait for that. You are not expected to do this instantly. In a few vorns, when you are more comfortable with being here, you can."

He nuzzles the mech, feeling better about that, "I can do that." He isn't looking forward to it, but it is something he can build up to. He'd like to get more comfortable with his bonded before he did public interfacing. He doesn't even do that with Spindle, and had never done it with Oil Slick.

They'd come close to getting caught a few times, but they never actually had, and they'd never been 'public' enough to really get caught anywhere. They'd been so careful.

Spindle had never even suggested a semi-public place.

Weavers did not interface where other bots could watch them, and Spindle is sitting, twitching his legs angrily. "Nein. I vill never interface viz you in public. I vill not let zem zink of me as a toy. Zey vill record it and spread it all around and my reputation vill be destroyed."

Megatron kisses Spindle, smiling softly, "They will think that you don't love me, my consort. They will wonder why you hate me so very much. You will be allowed to be the one on top, which is what I was suggesting in the first place. They will not think of you as a toy, my bonded."

Spindle clicks irritably, "I still vill not be interfacing you in public. It is not vhat veavers do. You vill have to live viz it."

Megatron hums, "Maybe some other time, my bonded."

"Nein," Spindle repeats, casting dark glares at them both, and then at the Decepticons in the room. "You vill understand better vhen my clan comes to live viz us."

Optimus hopes that the Decepticons can adapt to having part of a weaver clan living with them. The weavers will demand complete respect, and if they do not get it . . the end results will be quite ugly. He expects that a few bots may end up being swarmed. A terrible punishment.

He kisses Megatron, "We need to com Ultra Magnus and ask him why I have to be the one that-"

The bot shakes his head, "Later. You are still tired, my consort. I want you well rested. We can contact him later. You are welcome to return to recharge now. I know you want to." His wings are petted gently, making him whimper in happiness, "We can even return to the berthroom to do so. I don't mind. We can let you recharge out of the wraps, so you can get used to the feeling of air on them. How does that sound?"

He didn't like how his sensor nodes kept pinging him with information when they were uncovered, but he understands what the mech means. He nods, "That may be best."

The Decepticons in the room make soft, disappointed sounds when Megatron picks up his lovers and carries them out of the room. Optimus dims his optics and relaxes, and then asks, "Can I chain you up tonight?"

Megatron laughs, "You don't have the cuffs yet, little mech. How do you-"

"I'm very good with chains," Optimus purrs, rubbing Megatron's chestplates. It's been too long since he's been able to really tie a mech down and control them.

The bot hums softly, pinching the points of his wings, making him arch in pleasure, "I think I can indulge my consort with this." The mech lovers his voice, "I will not allow you to get me into protoform like I know you had Oil Slick the very second time you interfaced him. We will work up to that, my little bot. Let's have more things to do as we go on, shall we?"

He frowns, "Oil Slick told you that-"

He's kissed, glossa flicking into his mouth, "Oil Slick likes to talk about you. It does not matter, since you are mine now, and he will not be interrupting us."

Optimus takes control of the kiss, wrapping his servos around the points of Megatron's helm to hold him in place. He dims his optics and pulls back reluctantly "I'm going to like your helm like this. More to me to grab onto so I can force you to lick my spark." He loves holding a mech over his spark and making them lick him to multiple overloads, until their glossa is tired.

Megatron's engine rumbles with approval. "I am more than willing to let you do that this evening, my sweet. Will Spindle be helping?"

Optimus dims his optics further, "Spindle is going to get his legs tied to his sides. I think we'll be using him as our sparktoy this sol."

Spindle squawks, clawing at him with gloved servos, "You can _not_ say such zings! How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you!"

Optimus takes his tiny lover, kissing him possessively, "We are almost to the berthroom, love, stop worrying. It isn't like anyone but Megatron heard me."

Megatron moves him so that he's pressed to the larger mech's face, and the bot nibbles at his chestwrap, "I look forward to it, my consorts. It will be a nice reversal of what normally happens in the berth, and I am more than willing to indulge you every so often. Don't expect me to do this all the time, however. I am not going to allow this to happen every sol."

Optimus kisses him, "As long as you don't expect me to be the one in chains, I am fine. I dislike being chained down. It does nothing for me." It makes him slightly paranoid. He really, truly dislikes having his servos restrained in the berth, unless it's very mild restraint.

He can enjoy being held down by a lover, pinned in place by their weight and strength.

But not actually cuffed.

The bot nods, nibbling at his chestwrap with dim optics, "If that is what you prefer, then there will be no cuffs on you. I don't need my lovers restrained." The bot sets them on the berth, servos on their frames, "Are we supposed to take off our clothing? I know that you like leaving on your cloaks, but I want to see your entire frames. I am willing to leave on mine, if that is wha-"

"No." He's not going to deal with the massive amount of damage 'facing on the cloak they made Megatron will do to it. "You'll take your outfit off. Carefully." He's not going to let it get damaged more than it already is. They're going to have to fix any errors they made to it, and any damage that may have happened from anything else.

Megatron nods, "Will I be allowed to undress you, my consorts?" Large fingers brush the lacing on his chestwrap, teasing the edges of it.

"Yes," Optimus helps Megatron, tugging on the laces that let his wrap fall away. "And you too, Spindle."

The weaver frets nervously, but slowly slips his leggings off. Spindle is always nervous about getting completely naked. It had taken Optimus a very long time to get the mech naked with him. They had interfaced many times with their cloaks on, underneath heating blankets, the way modest bots did. Optimus hated it.

It had been quite the triumph when he'd managed to get Spindle naked for him.

Megatron puts a finger on Spindle's claws, "Leave the leggings on? You look so lovely with them laced up. Take everything else off, but leave those on?"

Spindle gratefully ties them back up, "I can do zat." The rest of the clothing is slowly removed, "Is zere anyzing else you'd like me to keep on?"

Megatron touches the weaver's glasses, "Just these. I do love a bot with them, and the fact that almost all weavers have them is a wonderful bonus." Megatron looks at Optimus thoughtfully, "Would _you_ like it if I had Scalpel make you a pair, my consort?"

Optimus huffs out a soft laugh, "Spindle's tried to make me some before. I don't need the glasses. My own optics provide enough sensory input." Optimus strips out of his wingwraps, feeling the air burst over the sensors like a lover's caress. He gasps, "Oh . . Primus. Are seekers really this sensitive?"

A secretive smile answers him. "Perhaps not quite that sensitive. I did have Hook tweak the sensors a bit."

He frowns, "You should put them back to where they're supposed to be. I won't be able to concentrate if they're this hi-"

The bot puts his intricately beaded cloak on a chair, then kisses the tip of his wing, the warmth tingles all along his frame, "You will have them covered all the time, my consort. We will only keep them exposed in the berth. Even later on, in public interfacing, you will remain covered. Am I not allowed to want you to be as sensitive as possible when I touch you?"

He pushes Megatron's head away, taking off his boots, "I want to be able to fly with you. If they're this sensitive, I won't be able to do that, remember?"

Megatron's optics dim, "Would you like to interface in the air when you are able to fly steadily?"

"Perhaps," Optimus answers evasively, "but I think it will take some time to learn to fly if you keep the sensors at this level. If air currents in the room are enough to make my spark pulse, I can't imagine it will be possible to fly."

"You will learn," Megatron promises, tweaking his ailerons lightly back and forth, rubbing at the delicate wiring under the panels. "You will have many bots willing and eager to teach you."

He pushes Megatron's fingers away, spark pulsing wildly, "And they still won't remain as sensitive in the berth like you want."

Megatron tugs off his chestwrap, removing the last of all of their clothing, and sits on the berth, "You can talk to Starscream, my consort. He will talk to you and you can decide what you want." The bot leans against the wall, optics dim, "Would you like to chain me down now?"

"Yes," Optimus's optics flash, and his spark throbs with desire.

* * *

Which makes it all the more frustrating when there's a pounding at the door, and a sudden crashing. The sound of a _lot_ of crashing. Optimus blinks, turning to the door, and Lugnut comes bursting through, "My lord! I know that you're bu...sy..." The bot turns bright red, suddenly looking anywhere but the berth, large servos tapping together nervously, "Th-the Autobots are attacking, my lord. They are trying to botnap your consorts."

Optimus reluctantly gets off of Megatron, then suddenly realizes that he is _completely_ naked, and scoops Spindle out of the mech's chamber to hide behind the larger bot. He starts to take off the chains from the weaver as Megatron closes up and says, "He _did_ com them and say he was fine. Why are they really here?"

"Apparently they believed that he was lying to try and keep the peace." Lugnut taps his pincers a little faster, glancing over at the berth shyly once or twice and then away as quickly as he can. "They are slandering your name, calling you a sparkrapist. It is very hard to keep the general mechs from attacking, my liege."

Megatron snaps the chains holding his cuffs down and extends a few nano cables from his fingertips, hacking the lock for the cuffs open. They fall to the floor, and Megatron sighs, "Very well. We will deal with this at once."

The bot sits up, and Optimus growls, "Get our clothing."

Megatron frowns, "There is no time for-"

"You can _not_ go out there naked. Do you understand me? We are not going to allow you to-"

The mech nods, reaching into his subspace, "Very well, since I'm going to be-"

"You will wear the _good_ cloak, Primus damn you. You will not wear that embarrassment that we put you in earlier. We need to _all_ be dressed for this."

"But fighting in that cloak would ruin it," Megatron says, optics narrowing. "I do not want to ruin it."

"Then don't fight," Optimus advises sweetly, wrapping himself with one of the filthy, lace-up wraps and cloaks that Brimstone has modified for him. He wishes he had something more formal available to him, but with his modified frame, nothing fits. Steeling himself, he fits his hat into place and tucks Spindle up under it, the mech's preferred place to hide when he's been caught doing something filthy.

Megatron sighs in frustration, but puts on the chestwrap and hat before carefully placing on the cloak. "I do not like hobbling myself like this. They will attack me because they think that you do not want to be with me. I must be able to defe-"

He holds out his leg, a deliberately seductive pose meant to distract, "You should help me dress, Put my other boot on and wrap up my wings, my bonded?"

Megatron's optics dim, and the bot drops to his knees, reaching out to slowly lace him up, "Of course, Optimus. I would prefer that you don't cover up at all, but if I'm the one to dress you, I can not refuse." He leans in and kisses one heel, "Don't think you can distract me this way forever." He fits the boot on, which is really more like a metal screen that hands down around his ped, part of it draping over the front. It's cut into panels and really does look terribly slutty when he moves.

The Decepticon scoops him and Spindle up and carries them past Lugnut.

"I trust you will keep this to yourself?" he asks, and Lugnut nods eagerly, his cheeks flushed with color.

"Yes, my liege, I would never betray your trust. I would sooner offline myself!"

Megatron taps a finger to Lugnut's mouth as they walk, "Not even _Strika_."

Lugnut looks torn, but nods, "Yes, my lord. She will not be told."

The Decepticon leader smiles, "Good."

* * *

**Please Review**

Porn has been cut from this chapter, guys! Check it out on my livejournal or tumblr. In case you forgot where those are, my livejournal is my homepage on my profile, and the tumblr is linked on my profile!

I'd also like to know if any of you read my tumblr or not. I mean, I just upload chapters on it, only started with this fic. I don't know if you guys like that more than livejournal. Really, I'm not a fan of it. I may just stop posting there after this fic. I'd like to know what you guys want.

OKAY, SORRY ABOUT THE LONG WAIT, BUT FFDOTNT HAS BEEN HATING ME. YOU NEED TO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FOR THE NEXT STORY, SINCE THIS IS THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER.

Virgin Megatron or Optimus as twins. Those are your choices, leave a review telling me. Either her or on lj or tumblr


	23. Chapter 23

Optimus's Girl, you keep saying you want to read the parts I take out, but can't find my Livejournal or tumblr. All you have to do is click on my homepage in my profile on here. Click on my name in the upper left hand corner, then click on homepage. That will take you straight to my livejournal. The very top entry is a masterlist of EVERY SINGLE FIC that I have uploaded. Even ones that aren't on this site. You can even leave the reviews there, since I have it set to accept anonymous reviews. Or you can get a livejournal account. It is your choice.I just want you to know that I do read your reviews, I just am not sure how to fix the problem you've been having with being able to get at my stories in other places. I'd link it in the chapter, but ffdotnet strips out urls.

Last chapter, guys!

Edit: OH GOD, WHY DO YOU HATE ME, FFDOTNET? JUST LET ME UPLOAD. I don't want what happened last time to happen agaaaaain :

Transformers belongs to Hasbro_

* * *

"I trust you will keep this to yourself?" he asks, and Lugnut nods eagerly, his cheeks flushed with color._

_"Yes, my liege, I would never betray your trust. I would sooner offline myself!"_

_Megatron taps a finger to Lugnut's mouth as they walk, "Not even Strika."_

_Lugnut looks torn, but nods, "Yes, my lord. She will not be told."_

_The Decepticon leader smiles, "Good." _Optimus is kissed softly, "I still do not know why you insist that I can not _fight_. I must be able to-"

He puts his servo in the mech's mouth, pushing down on the glossa to silence him, "They are my _team_. You will not be fighting them at all. I will be talking to them, and very likely have to consent to a medical scan from Ratchet. It can be conducted behind a privacy screen out of the base."

"I suppose that will be acceptable," Megatron grumbles, around his servo, and Optimus relaxes.

"It will be fine. My team is just worried for me, as your Generals would worry for you if you were to be captured." He pauses, "Perhaps not Starscream." The seeker wanted leadership for himself. He would rejoice if Megatron were to be overthrown.

"I wish to be able to defend you from them," Megatron answers. "I know they will not harm you, but they may try to steal the both of you from me."

He presses a kiss to one of Megatron's paint stained servos, "We are bonded, and the cloak you are wearing has made it so that they can not annul it on Haydon IV. We will have to fix a few things on it, but we have just proven, beyond any doubt, that we are with you because we want to. If we had been hacked into it, you would not have gotten the same sort of cloak." Even if he had remembered the war cloak, he would have still had to put in certain designs on it to show that they were willing and wanted to stay with Megatron. Haydon IV has them for a reason when there is a botnapping ending in a bonding. If they are happy, they _have_ to put in designs showing that fact.

Otherwise, the bot responsible for the botnapping tends to . . well, they tend to not live very long, and the botnapped bot is reunited with their family shortly thereafter. It was important to them to keep bots from suffering. Their culture regarded bonding as sacred, and . . . there was very little that could cause a bot to legally break a bond after it was consummated.

Outside . . his team is fully armed, and they have his former students alongside them. He wonders who managed to convince Cliffjumper to wear a chestwrap. Whoever did that is some kind of miracle worker.

Optimus sighs softly, "I think it may be best to set me on the ground, so that I can talk to them."

Megatron holds him a little tighter, "I will not. They will take you from me, and I will never get you back. I refuse to allow such a thing to happen. They can talk to you while you are in my arms, my consort. If they don't like it, they can return to their base."

He groans, "Fine, whatever. Just... let's get closer, then."

"Put him down, Decepticreep!" Bumblebee declares, charging up his stingers, only to stop suddenly, press his fingers to his temple and hiss, "No, fraggit, stop calling me. I am _not_ going on a date with you. I don't fragging care how many times you call me. Stop it."

Apparently Sunstorm has already begun his assault.

He drops his servos and shouts at Megatron again, "Let Optimus go, you-" fingers to his temple, he turns around and hisses loudly, "No, frag, stop calling me. What part of 'stop fragging calling me' don't you understand?"

Optimus flops over Megatron's arms, wings fluttering in amusement, "Has this been happening a lot?" He watches as Bumblebee tries talking again only to start cursing into his com for a third time. He can imagine it is incredibly frustrating for the mech.

Prowl steps forward, looking ready to attack, "Ever since Sunstorm showed up covered in human fabric and loudly declaring himself dressed."

He perks up in interest, "Do you have a recording of that?"

The cyclebot shakes his head, "No."

"Disappointing." Optimus relaxes against Megatron. "Your attack is sweet, but unnecessary. I am safe, and the bonding was . . as consensual as could be expected. We are working on negotiating a peace contract between our factions."

Spindle pokes his head out from under Optimus's hat, "Ja, and vhen zere is peace, ve vill have many, many sparklings in our clutching and you vill all be expected to help vatch over zem on New Kaon."

Ratchet crosses his arms over his chest, "I ain't moving to New Kaon."

Optimus smiles, "You will visit, though? Won't you? I know that Arcee will want to see the sparklings, and you won't be able to stop her."

Ratchet frowns up at him, "Arcee doesn't want me, and you-"

He kisses Megatron, "I am bonded. I need to-"

Megatron shifts him slightly, "I am sure that your team mates and students want to make sure that you are not hacked, like you mentioned. I think that having the scan conducted in the Decepticon medical bay, rather than behind a privacy screen outside like you said."

"I am more than willing to have the scan any place, so long as privacy is assured to me." Optimus nuzzles Megatron, kissing his neck cabling lightly. "You will see that I have not been tampered with or injured." He drops his voice so only Megatron and Spindle can hear him, "But if they'd come a bit later, my servo might have been sore. I doubt you'll manage to avoid any spankings for long, Megatron."

The mech chuckles and turns, speaking over his shoulder, "You will not be assaulted if you come inside, Autobots. Not unless you attack first."

Ratchet glares, "We're not going inside. There's no way we'd be able to get _out_. You've already captured Blurr and Cliffjumper twice, we aren't going to allow that to go up to _three_ times."

Megatron holds up his servo, "I would not upset my consort like that. You will be unharmed as long as you remain in my base. I will assure that you all-"

Ratchet shakes his head, "No fragging way. We're going to be scanning here."

Optimus slips out of Megatron's arms and walks over to Ratchet, knocking the side of his helm lightly, "We can do a preliminary scan here, from one of my arm ports, but if you want more than that, we're going inside. We're bonded now, and you know that Megatron respects that sort of thing." He holds out an arm and opens a port for the medic to link a datapad with.

Ratchet just glares at him, "You know that's not fragging okay, Optimus."

He tilts his head, feeling Spindle shift under his hat, "It is what you are going to get."

Ratchet grabs him by the wing, making him yelp in pain, "You have _functional mods_, Prime. He's clearly hacked you into compliance. You will open up and let me scan you. I'm not going to trust anything he says."

He yanks away, massaging the dents through his wraps, "Blurr? Do you have your privacy screen? I can put that up along with mine." He knows that his former student bought one along with the expanded subspace, it was standard practice.

Blurr drags out the screen and sets it up, and Optimus ducks inside with Ratchet. The screen provides cover on all sides, even from above, and the fabric is thick enough to block out all light. The only light comes from a string of soft, yellow lights above him, worked into the fabric of the screen.

"Be honest with me, Prime," Ratchet says as kindly as possible. "Tell me what he's done to you. I need to know so I can get to work on fixing it."

He takes a chair out of his subspace, and sits in it, "I don't need to be _fixed_."

Ratchet glares at the chair, "I don't think I'll ever get used to how large your subspace is."

He shrugs, taking off his hat and putting Spindle to the side, "That isn't wha-"

"Vhat are you doing! I am not dressed! You vill not do zis!" The weaver hides under the hat, glaring up at him, and tucking the edges under his tiny frame.

Looking down at the bot, he frowns, "You could have gotten dressed that entire time you were under there. You didn't have to pay attention to the conversations. Get dressed."

"You do not order me around," Spindle hisses at him angrily. "You-" he's muffled as Optimus drops his cloak and chestwrap on top of the little bot. He's not in the mood for complaints. Not when he's had his own interfacing interrupted. He hates having to stop mid-frag, with his spark still throbbing.

Ratchet gasps with shock, "Oh, Primus . . he replaced your chestplates? Do you even have locks now?"

He slides his plates open and shrugs, "If I need them, I'll get them installed. For now I just got bonded. Locks get in the way. Can you scan me so that I can prove that this is consensual to the Autobots, Ratchet?" He crosses his legs and leans back, showing off his spark in irritation, "And Spindle as well. Not that it matters for him, _he_ isn't an Autobot."

Spindle hisses irritably, "He vill not be scanning me. I am not consenting to it. He vill not see my spark. I am not showing it off to anvone. Ve are _outside_, und I do not care zat zere is a privacy screen! He vill not be scanning me _here_! Spindle stamps his tiny peds and then hisses when they just sink into the ground harmlessly instead of making sharp tapping sounds.

Optimus has to turn his head to hide a smile, and groans as Ratchet prods at his plates. "Be gentle. There's no need to go poking at them when I've already got them open for you."

"Just makin' sure that the Decepticons haven't done a botch job on your mods," Ratchet mutters, before reaching in and _squeezing_ his spark firmly. Optimus's optics fly wide and he squeaks with shock. "Well, no damage here, and you're not carrying yet either."

He shoves the servo away, "Of course I'm not carrying! My protocols are up, and Spindle and I haven't contacted the Skyline clan yet. We will be clutching as soon as they're here, or on New Kaon. We have a contract to uphold, and it _will_ be upheld."

Ratchet glares, "You could have been hacked into dropping them. It is easier to check like this than it is to find out from scanning and accidentally damaging them."

He gives his medic a flat look, "And I told you that I'm not hacked. You will just _scan_ me now, Ratchet, or I will be insisting that we go inside, and have medic Hook scan me to provide you with the results."

Ratchet hisses at him, "Slag it all, Prime, you _know_ I'm following Autobot protocol here. If Bumblebee had come back from being botnapped by Sunstorm with bonding paint, a pair of wings, and clear chestplates, would you accept his assurances that it was all consensual?"

He wouldn't.

Optimus sighs. "Just hurry it up, Ratchet. You're delaying. I'm not injured or traumatized. Scan me for signs of hacking. You won't find any."

Ratchet sighs softly, and pulls out a medical datapad, saying soft enough that it won't be heard out of the privacy screen, "I don't want to find the mess that I found in the others, Prime. I can't fix that, and we're surrounded by Decepticons. They may have had the loyalty codes gone, but you seem to be really attached to Megatron. If we try to get you out of here, I don't want to have to fight you."

He rolls his optics, "You aren't going to have to worry about that. Just scan me."

The medic connects the datapad into his sparkchamber port, running a through scan, "It still isn't something I want, Prime."

"Look, if you find proof that I've been hacked, I'll go with you without a fight. I promise." Optimus feels the medic poking around in his code, testing his firewalls and virus programs. "Please try not to accidentally infect me with anything this time. It was unpleasant enough last time."

"If your fraggin' firewalls had been up to date, the test virus wouldn't have managed to get in your code, Prime," Ratchet grumbles. "The sniffles were an adequate punishment for having out of date security features."

He gives the mech a dirty look, "I would have been just fine if you hadn't been po-" He stops tilting his head when he hears a question from Bulkhead about Megatron's cloak.

The pride in Megatron's voice warms his spark as he listens to the answer, "My _consorts_ made it for me in a single sol. Optimus and Spindle wanted me to have clothing to prove their devotion. I am honored that they made it for me, and it is absolutely beautiful." He watches as his bonded's silhouette swirls the cloak against the screen, "I love it. It is the only reason that you did not get _shot_ at when I first saw you all for demanding my consort."

His spark glows with warmth, and Ratchet makes a disgusted sound. "You look like you haven't been hacked. And your spark reacts like you're starting to fall in love with the fragger. What _happened_, Prime?"

Optimus would love to tell them, but not out in public like this. "Come with us into the base and Spindle and I will tell you all about it."

Ratchet narrows his optics, "Is this some kind of trap? I don't want to think you're betraying us, Prime. You're the last one that I'd think capable of it."

"We'll be negotiating a peace treaty soon, don't worry. I am not a traitor to the Autobots. I am still happily a Prime, and not going to be joining the Decepticons. I have no plans on leaving, either." He frowns, saying thoughtfully, "I may need to step down, so that Ultra can't demand various things from me that _really_ are not appropriate when I am the leader of the Decepticons's consort."

Ratchet looks at him with a slightly stunned expression, "But you... You're..."

He waves a servo, "Yes, I am on the fast-track to becoming Magnus. That doesn't really matter when I'm bonded to Megatron, does it?"

"I was going to say that you're an _Autobot_."

"Yes. I'm an Autobot who will hopefully bring peace." He flushes and looks away, "Peace with my spark. It's a bit old-fashioned, bringing peace through a bonding, but . . I hope it works." If not, he'll be bonded to a bot of the opposite faction, and Ultra Magnus . . well, he was his Magnus. He has the authority to order Optimus to his side. The authority to prevent Optimus from resigning his rank. Ultra can overrule Optimus's attempts to peacefully resign, leaving him no choice but to turn traitor.

It would break his spark.

He takes the cable out of his port, "But does that satisfy you, Ratchet? I am not hacked, and nothing has been tampered with. I am bonded with him because I want to be. I am going to-"

The medic lifts his cloak and chestwrap off of Spindle, "I'm going to be scanning you, weaver. There's no way you're getting out of it."

Spindle hisses angrily, "Nein! You vill _not_! I am not hacked, und you vill not be scanning me! I refuse!"

Ratchet throws Optimus his clothing, which he starts to put on, "I need to see that you didn't managed to get hacked and talk Optimus into this afterwards."

Spindle rears up on his back legs, posture defiant and frightened, "Nein! Nein! Optimus, save me!"

Optimus sighs and scoops Spindle up. "You need to be scanned too, Spindle. Ratchet has seen your spark before. He didn't do anything to hurt you then. He won't do anything to hurt you now. You have to trust him." He kisses Spindle's helm. "He won't hurt you and you cannot be allowed back on Autobot soil until you've been scanned."

Spindle swipes his claws at Ratchet, "Nein! Zen I vill just stay off! Cybertron is full of whorebots!"

Optimus kisses him, smiling in amusement, "New Kaon has no clothing at all. It is a very hot planet, love. You know that."

Spindle bristles unhappily, "I vill not go vizout clozing. _Ever_. I am not a hussy!"

He gently tugs off the weaver's chestwrap, "I know, my love, I know. You are still getting a scan for hacking. It will be a good idea all around."

Spindle makes a half-sobbing sound, and bats at his servos, "Nein, nein, nein!"

Optimus wishes sometimes that the weaver was not so over the top in his drama displays. "Calm down." He pops the weaver's plates open, baring his tiny spark. "If this is about earlier, you know Lugnut won't tell anyone. Just be calm and let Ratchet scan you. He'll see you're fine and we'll go back to Megatron."

"Lugnut?" Ratchet asks curiously, attaching a special datapad jack made just for weavers and their tiny ports.

"That is not something we are talking about, Ratchet. We don't ask what _you_ do in the berthroom, do we?" He rubs Spindle's back, smiling at the medic.

Ratchet gives him a dirty look, "Fraggers." The bot scans the datapad, "You haven't been keeping your protocols up unless you're 'facing. Stop that."

Spindle glares, slashing at the medic's fingers, "Nein. It encourages a clutching later on. I need zat for meine Optimus. He vill be carrying only _my_ clutch now, and I vant him to have lots of sparklings."

Seeing as the medicbot knows as much as any other medicbot about clutching and weavers, Ratchet just grumbles and accepts the claim. He can't really argue with Spindle. "You're clean." He disconnects the pad. "Fragging Decepticon probably has a dozen viruses, so you'd better keep your firewalls up and have him scanned before you . . . clutch."

Megatron clearly heard that, and his voice floats in, amused, "I am clean of all viruses."

Spindle waves a servo negligently, "I have already scanned him vhile he vas recharging. Do you zink I am stupid enough to simply believe a bot vhen he says he is clean?"

Optimus puts Spindle's chestwrap back on, "Indeed." He kisses the weaver's head, "Are we finished?"

Ratchet glares, "_Yes_. I'm still not happy. I will want you scanned every-"

He puts his chair back in subspace and compacts the privacy screen back down, "I will not be damaged, Ratchet. I have work that I _must_ do. I have to make my bonded's clothing. He can not go without, and-"

He's scooped up into Megatron's arms, kissed lovingly, and the bot laughs, "I like what I have, you don't need to make me more, my consorts."

"A leader must have many outfits," Spindle says, stroking Megatron's cheek with a ped. "You vill vear vhat ve give you and you vill learn vhen to vear each zing." Spindle makes an irritated chirping sound, "I am not happy zat New Kaon vill have an entirely new dress code. Ve vill have to make clozing suited for hussies." He stamps his peds on Megatron's shoulders. "I do not like zis."

Megatron kisses the weaver, "You will look lovely, my consort. Do not worry. If it comes to it, we will install a more efficient cooling system on you, how does that sound?"

Optimus shakes his head, "Your bots will think it an unneeded expense, putting something like that on us just so that we can wear clothing." Especially when the Decepticons go without. He is comfortable without clothing, but he knows that Spindle and the entire Skyline clan will not be the least bit happy about it.

Megatron nuzzles him, "We will get to it when we do."

"Yes." Optimus kisses his beloved. It's going to be a long, hard couple of vorns ahead of them, but he knows they'll be better off in the end. They'll have peace, and he'll have a family with dozens of weaver sparklings. And maybe a little spaceship if they're really lucky.

Optimus smiles to himself. The future looks very bright.

* * *

**Please Review**

Okay, everyone. This is the last chapter.

(edit: This is March 23rd as I write this tiny bit right here. ffdotnet hates me, and won't let me upload. I'll see how it goes later today XP)

I'm still not sure if I'll be uploading Optimus as twins or the virgin Megatron fic. The Optimus as twins fic has no porn and can all be uploaded here with no cutting. While virgin Megatron is longer, has porn I need to cut from here, and has fanart for it already that I'll be posting in the livejournal entry that the art is from. Possibly in the tumblr entry? I will need to ask the friend that uses it to help me. I don't even know if any of you read the tumblr.

ANYWAY. Vote for which one you want me to put up. So far it is two votes for each. Don't vote again, Gillian, I know you want twins. ... Unless you're changing your vote, I guess.

And Optimus's Girl, if you didn't read the author's note on the top, you should do that now.


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